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THE OLD FIRM 


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THE OLD FIRM 


BY 

FRANCIS MORTON HOWARD 

AUTHOR OP 

“happy rascals,” “strictly business,” etc. 



NEW YORK 

E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY 

681 Fifth Avenue 



Published 

By E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY 


AU rights reserved 


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Authorized American Edition 

SIFT 

Pl'SUSHER 

JOL23 'S4 



JUL 24 *24 



Printed in the United States of America 




WILLIAM PARTRIDGE CUBITT 

OF BACTON ABBEY, IN THE COUNTY OF NORFOLK 
IN RECOLLECTION OF SO MANY HAPPY DAYS 
IN AND ON AND BY THE FRINGE OF 






THE OLD FIRM 



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THE OLD FIRM 


CHAPTEK I 

W ITHIN the broad bow-window of a quayside tav¬ 
ern there stood a solitary figure that defiantly 
opposed its own darkling aura to the fresh and spacious 
brilliance of the day. With hands deep-plunged into 
pockets, with Tegs straddled doggedly apart, and with 
chin sunk on chest, Mr. Horace Dobb scowled out at 
the sunshine and formulated vague anathemas against 
a universe for whose saviour he had lost all relish. 

“Aye, shine on!” growled Mr. Dobb, bitterly address¬ 
ing the sun. “Little you care! Yon ain’t tied up for 
life to a rotten little second-hand shop!” 

And, by this apostrophe, Mr. Dobb dragged down the 
curtains of secret vexation which surrounded him, and 
stood revealed as one more monument to the elusiveness 
of human contentment. 

For here was a man who, less than two short years 
ago, had achieved a coup that was the admiration of 
himself and the envy of his intimates. 

Not everyone may hope to acquire a wife and an 
established business in one lucky stroke, hut this, in¬ 
deed, was the feat that Mr. Dobb had performed. 

Domesticity and independence thus simultaneously 
attained, Mr. Dobb had gleefully resigned his berth as 
cook to that disreputable vessel, the “Jane Gladys,” 



2 


THE OLD FIRM 


and had settled to a shore-abiding career in the fond 
belief that now, of a surety, had he won to a state of life 
which must completely satisfy him. 

And belief ripened into confidence when, by the exer¬ 
cise of his peculiar talents for intrigue, Mr. Dohb ar¬ 
ranged that his three closest cronies, time-welded com¬ 
panions of his on the “Jane Gladys,” should likewise 
quit their seafaring existence and take up urban occu¬ 
pations near him in the ancient little harbour town of 
Shorehaven. In this manner a confederacy of happy 
rascality transferred its activites from shipboard to 
land, and not only were old friendships thus maintained 
unbroken, hut their value was enhanced by increased 
scope of opportunity for petty, hut profitable, commer¬ 
cial conspiracy. 

Loudly, in the earlier days of this new regime had 
Mr. Horace Dohb proclaimed the existing conditions of 
his life to he just as he could wish them to he. This 
declaration, however, he came to making with less and 
less frequency and enthusiasm as the days grouped 
themselves into weeks, and the weeks tallied into 
months. 

And now, before even the second anniversary of his 
double marriage to a spouse and a shop had come round, 
here he was no longer troubling to hide from himself 
that he had been mistaken in his notions of an ideal 
existence. . . . 

Again Mr. Dobb fretfully addressed himself to the 
sun. 

“Easy enough for you to shine!” he sneered. “You 
ain’t got competition to contend with. If you ’ad rent 
and rates and taxes and-” 

He stopped sharply, for the handle of the door had 



THE OLD FIRM 


3 


begun to scroop. A tremor coursed through Mr. Dobb’s 
squat frame, seeming to tauten and vivify it. In a 
moment he had become brisk and genial and on his 
guard. 

Someone entered the room. Mr. Dobb, continuing to 
stare through the window, hummed a few lively bars, 
such as might advertise the natural gaiety of any pros¬ 
perous business man who had not a single care in the 
world. Then he picked up his neglected meed of re¬ 
freshment, sipped at it with noisy appreciation, and 
replaced the empty glass on the table with an airy turn 
of his wrist and an exuberant little bang. 

This by-play concluded, Mr. Dobb turned with an 
engaging smile of friendliness towards the figure of the 
new-comer. Immediately and undisguisedly he re¬ 
lapsed into moroseness, for he saw the other man to be 
one Mr. Joseph Tridge, member of that old-established 
alliance to which allusion has already been made. 

“ ’Orace,” observed Mr. Tridge in singularly flat 
and ungratified tones. 

“Joe,” returned Mr. Dobb with equal lack of ardour. 

Mr. Tridge, having plainly conceded to etiquette all 
that he intended, offered no further remark, but crossed 
to the window. Here he ranged himself beside Mr. 
Dobb and glowered out at the harbour in just the same 
misfavouring manner as marked his companion’s re¬ 
gard of the scene. And thus the two remained for 
awhile, until at last Mr. Tridge, emitting a long, quiv¬ 
ering breath, turned impatiently away and flung himself 
into a chair. 

“Same ’ere with me,” stated Mr. Dobb simply. 

“Why the dooce I was ever fool enough to let you 
persuade me into settling down in this miserable, potty, 
cock-eyed, underdone little village, marooned on a 


4 


THE OLD FIRM 


muddy, smelly old creek-” fulminated Mr. Tridge. 

“Business bad ?” sneered Mr. Dobb. 

“Business ain’t bad,” returned Mr. Tridge. “Flo, 
nor business ain’t good. No, it ain’t medium ’alf-way, 
neither! And I’ll tell you for why! Because there 
ain’t no dam business at all! See ?” 

“What, don’t no one come to the Magnolia T’ilet 
Saloon now ?” asked Mr. Dobb, clearly a little startled. 

“Oh, there’s plenty comes! They comes for a bob’s 
worth of coppers, or to see if I can oblige ’em with a 
stamp, or to ask the way to the ’arbour. But as for 
decent, respectable folks as wants a ’air-cut or a shave 
or a bottle of brilliantine-” 

“I must say I ain’t altogether surprised, Joe,” stated 
Mr. Dobb candidly. “Half the time you’re out, and 
three hours later you comes back to take down a notice 
on your door what says ‘Back in five minutes.’ ” 

“Well, a man’s entitled to a certain amount of 
reckeryation, ain’t ’e ?” sullenly contended Mr. Tridge. 

“Ah, but being out such a lot puts you all behind, 
Joe. When you do happen to come back, you have to 
? urry. And the customers you attends to in a ’urry 
don’t look a good advertisement for the Magnolia T’ilet 
Saloon when they leaves. They don’t look like cus¬ 
tomers at all: they look more like first-aid cases.” 

“When you’ve done philosophizing,” sourly observed 
Mr. Tridge, “p’raps you’ll attend to your own business. 
If we’re going to talk about businesses let’s talk about 
yours, and leave mine alone.” 

“Ah! but that’s just what you’re too fond of doing, 
Joe.” 

“And what’s it got to do with you, in any case?” 
Mr. Tridge truculently returned. “It don’t matter to 
you, do it ?” 




THE OLD FIRM 


5 


“That’s just where you’re wrong, Joe. It do! Mat¬ 
ter of fact, these last few minutes I’ve been doing a hit 
of thinking and-” 

“Your thinkings generally lead to doings,” remarked 
Mr. Tridge, with interest. “About time there was 
something doing too. Well, what’s the idea? What 
’ave you been thinking this time ? 

He awaited Mr. Dobb’s reply with marked expect¬ 
ancy, but that gentleman was displaying a strange hesi¬ 
tation. 

“I could believe most things about you, ’Orace,” 
frankly admitted Mr. Tridge; “but I could never be¬ 
lieve as you’re getting shy! Never! Come on, out 
with it!” 

“Well then, Joe, old pal,” said Mr. Dobb, “I was 
wondering whether you—whether you’d take me into 
partnership with you in your saloon ? There!” 

“ ‘S’trewth, ’Grace, it ain’t come to that, ’as it ?”• 
cried Mr. Tridge in amazement. 

“It has, old chum,” sorrowfully affirmed Mr. Dobb. 

“Ah, it’s part of some new dodge you’ve thought of ?” 
suggested Mr. Tridge, recovering himself. “I thought 
at first you really meant it!” 

“But I do mean it!” asseverated Mr. Dobb. “It 
ain’t no part of a plan or a scheme or nothing, Joe, old 
shipmate. I won’t ’ide the truth from you, Joe. Busi¬ 
ness is rotten with me—rotten and perished and gone 
all to dust!” 

“I certainly ’ad a sneaking notion that things was 
going a bit slow with you. Why, it must be weeks since 
you and me and Peter Lock and old Sam Clark brought 
off a deal! But I never guessed it could ever be so 
bad as you’d want to come into partnership with me/ ;l 

“I’m too sharp and clever, Joe,” sorrowfully ex- 



6 


THE OLD FIRM 


plained Mr. Dobb. “And I’ve stayed in business in 
these parts too long now. I started off so well, too. I 
reckon pretty nigb everybody in Shore 7 aven has come 
to my shop at some time or other . 77 

“Aye, once ” laconically ceded Mr. Tridge. 

“And now no one comes , 77 complained Mr. Dobb. 
“They 7 d rather go and be cheated somewhere else. Not 
so much as a rusty set of fire-irons have I had offered 
to me for weeks past. Why, the missis 7 as 7 ad to take 
to stocking side-lines on 7 er own to keep the place going 
at all. 7 Ead-ache pills, shampoo powders, almenacks, 
and penny packets of needles—you know the sort of 
thing. Worst of it is, she makes more out of 7 er side¬ 
lines than I do out of the shop. And that makes 7 er 
a bit uppish . 77 

“Ah, I 7 d noticed you 7 d give up smoking cigars on 
Sundays ! 77 mentioned Mr. Tridge. 

“I must say that woman has been a surprise and a 
disappointment to me , 77 declared Mr. Dobb ungallantly. 
“It ain 7 t a bit like you read about women in poetry. 
She ain’t got at all the right idea of 7 elping a man in 7 is 
troubles. When things was going right with me she was 
all 7 oney. Now she 7 s all vinegar. Just because it hap¬ 
pens to have been her premises to start with, she 7 s took 
pretty well all the responsibility out of my 7 ands lately, 
to say nothing of the key of the till . 77 

“What was you thinking of, to let 7 er ? 77 

“Well, mostly, Joe , 77 confided Mr. Dobb, “I was 
thinking it was a wonder where she found breath to say 
all the things she did. And it was no good trying to 
argue with her, because that only gave her the chance 
to go on talking. And do you know what it 7 s come to 
now, Joe? One shilling per day, strictly excluding 


THE OLD FIRM 


7 


Sundays—that's all she allows me! And she 'as the 
cheek to call that ‘travelling expenses!' " 

“A boh a day ? Why, that 'ardly allows you to travel 
to the nearest licensed 'ouse!" commented the scandal¬ 
ized Mr. Tridge. 

Of course it don't! But there was a time when I 
'ad the free 'andling of the till, and, thank goodness, I 
'ad the presence of mind to 'ide a bit away for a rainy 
day. But I can't stand a life like this much longer, 
Joe! Let 'er take over the whole of the mouldy old 
shop! I'll prove my independence by getting a job 
with someone else! And that's why I thought, if you'd 
take me into partnership in your saloon-•" 

“By all means!" cried Mr. Tridge, and laughed 
loudly, hut quite mirthlessly. “Oh, anything to oblige 
a pal!" 

“Ah, Joe, old chum, you and me always was the best 
of pals!" fawned Mr. Dobb. “We'll soon make a suc¬ 
cess again of the Magnolia T'ilet Saloon, see if we 
don't. And you can go out as much as you like. I'll 
attend to the business! When can I start with you ?" 

“To-morrow," answered Mr. Tridge with a sort of 
savage jocosity. “Better start as soon as you can." 

“To-morrow it is!" joyously accepted Mr. Dobb. 

“Aye, better start as soon as you can," repeated Mr. 
Tridge, “because the partnership can only last four 
days, at the most!" 

“Four days? What do you mean?" 

“Why, I've sold the business J" announced Mr. 
Tridge. “And the new proprietor takes over next Mon¬ 
day !" 

For a long, long space Mr. Dobb remained inert un¬ 
der this spiteful blow from Fate, and Mr. Tridge 


8 


THE OLD FIRM 


enjoyed his discomfiture, as one dupe may find a certain 
rankling solace in contemplating the straits of another 
cozened victim. 

“But—but—hut what are you going to do, Joe?” 
asked Mr. Dohb at last. 

“Blessed if I know! But it’ll he anything hut bar- 
bering in Shore’aven, you can take your oath of that!” 

“But there’s me, Joe,” Mr. Dobb plaintively re¬ 
minded him. “If that’s your idea of being friendly, or 

even honest-! I looks to you to give me a ’elping 

’and, and-” 

“I am fed up with shaving, and I am fed up with 
’air-cutting, and I am fed up with shampooing, and I 
am fed up with the smell of ’air-ile, and I am fed up 
with singeing, and I am fed up with Shore’aven,” cate¬ 
gorically stated Mr. Tridge. “And I am going to clear 
right out! And you could jolly well do the same, if you 
wanted to, couldn’t you?” 

There was a startled little exclamation from Mr. 
Dobb, and he blinked at Mr. Tridge as though he had 
found the remark so luminous that it dazzled him. 

“Why, so I could, Joe!” he whispered. “So I could! 
I never thought of that! That shows you the effect of 
married life on the intellect, don’t it?” 

Like a man suddenly confronted with necessity to 
reconsider an entire plan of campaign, Mr. Dobb 
silently, as it were, retired with himself to a seat in the 
corner. Tipping his hat over his eyes to preclude out¬ 
side distractions, he folded his arms, stretched forth 
his legs, and purposefully yielded himself to a wide- 
ranging meditation. Mr. Tridge, bringing forth a 
newspaper, began a calculative scrutiny of its racing 
columns, marking here and there an item with the stub 
of a pencil, and occasionally sending his finger-tips on 




THE OLD FIRM 


9 


a tour among his square, wooden features, in effort to 
stimulate memory and judgment. 

And so a close quiet prevailed in the apartment till 
again the door opened and a third individual entered. 

Aged, if not exactly venerable, was the rubicund and 
[whiskered countenance of this new arrival. His eyes 
were singularly clear and of an innocent blue, and the 
plumpness of his figure was proclaimed and empha¬ 
sized by the tight woollen jersey he wore. 

He came through the doorway with a kind of fuming 
impatience, muttering darkly to himself and shaking 
his head and frowning. At view of Mr. Tridge and 
Mr. Dobb, his ill-humour became clamorous and articu¬ 
late. 

“I won’t ’ave it!” he declared. “I won’t ’ave it! 
I ain’t going to stand it no longer, nor I won’t, neither! 
See ?” 

“ ’Ullo, Sam!” said Mr. Tridge, looking up from his 
disturbed hippological survey. “What’s it all about? 
What’s the matter ?” 

“Conversation lozenges!” viciously snapped Mr. 
Samuel Clark. 

“Same to you, and many of ’em!” retorted Mr. 
Tridge at once, accepting Mr. Clark’s reply as some¬ 
thing new in the way of crude repartee. 

“You know—them round, flat peppermint things, with 
words printed on ’em,” Mr. Clark explained. “That’s 
what I mean.” 

“Well, what about ’em?” asked Mr. Tridge warily. 

“A danger and a noosance, that’s what they are!” 
warmly declared Mr. Clark, and, diving his hand into 
his pocket, he produced three small discs. “ ’Ere, look 
at this,” he requested, selecting one and passing it to 
Mr. Tridge. “What’s it got printed on it, eh ?” 


10 


THE OLD FIRM 


“It says ' Pleased to meet you 999 

“That’s right. She give me that the first day. 'Now 
look at this. What’s this one say?” 

“It says 'Naughty hoy / far as I can make out.” 

“That’s right,” again confirmed Mr. Clark. “The 
words is a bit faint because I ’appened to ’ave a touch 
of hindigestion and started sucking it. 'Naughty hoy 9 
—that’s it! She give me that one yesterday. Only 
the second time I’d met ’er! And now,”—Mr. Clark’s 
voice soared to an indignant squeak—“now look at the 
one she give me this morning!” 

" ‘I love you 9 99 read Mr. Tridge aloud. 

“That’s right! And I won’t ’ave it, and that’s flat! 
And so I shall tell ’er, too!” 

“Tell who?” 

“That Mrs. Brockway! Don’t ask me ’oo she is,” 
begged the stout old gentleman, heatedly, “because I 
don’t know ’oo she is from Adam, except that she’s been 
on my ferry-boat these three mornings running. Yes, 
and this morning she was asking me whether there was 
season tickets issued. A nice prospect that!” 

“What’s she like, Sam ?” Mr. Tridge wanted to know. 
“ ’Andsome ?” 

“A face like a cottage loaf upside down, and a figger 
like a capital B!” supplied Mr. Clark. 

“Well, then, if she’s like that,” commented Mr* 
Tridge, perplexed, “I can’t see ’ow your friendship 
with ’er ever come to start.” 

“I tell you I ain’t got no friendship with ’er!” dis¬ 
claimed Mr. Clark. “First time she come on my ferry 
I was naturally polite and civil to ’er. And she took 
advantage of me being a—a bit chatty, and asked me if 
I liked sweets. And when she’d done giggling and tee- 
heeing at the answer I give ’er, she ’anded me that first 


THE OLD FIRM 


11 


sweet I passed you. Picked it out, very careful, she 
did, from a big bag of ’em she’d bought somewheres.” 

“Why didn’t you eat it?” 

“Ah, that was where my civility run away with mo 
sense,” regretfully confessed Mr. Clark. “I told ’er 
larky-like, as I’d keep it as a keepsake of a pleasant 
meeting. That sort of thing. You know. It’s a bit 
lonely on the ferry some mornings and — and one talks 
just for the sake of company.” 

Mr. Dobb, abandoning his cogitations, turned a tor- 
pid gaze of scorn upon the plump ferryman. 

“Sam,” ho sepulchrally observed, “I always did say 
you was a gay old dawg!” 

“I was simply being polite to encourage a noo cus¬ 
tomer,” contended Mr. Clark with cold dignity, though 
none the less his complexion deepened a little. “I 
wanted ’er fares, I didn’t want ’er sweets.” 

“You tako my word for it, Sam,” said Mr. Dobb, un¬ 
convinced, “marriage ain’t half a lottery!” 

“ ’Oo wants to get married ?” cried Mr. Clark, evi¬ 
dencing alarm at mero mention of such a matter. “Not 
me! I only wants to be left to die in peace, at my age. 
jWhen me time comes, of course, not before. But, if I 
can’t ’ave that, I’d as soon chuck up my job and clear 
right out! Sooner, in fact! I’ve ’ad just about enough 
pf Shoro’aven, and that’s the truth!” 

Mutually did Mr. Tridge and Mr. Dobb turn towards 
each other to exchange looks that called attention to the 
strangeness of coincidence. 

“We don’t ’ave any of the jolly times ashore together 
that wo used to ’ave,” complained Mr. Clark. “And 

now this ’ere female is starting to worrit after me-! 

I ain’t a vain man - ” 

“ ’Ow could you be ?” murmured Mr. Tridge. 




n 


THE OLD FIRM 


“But,” continued Mr. Clark, proudly ignoring the 
interruption, “if that woman ain’t trying to get ’er 
hooks into me as a ’usband, I’ll eat my cap, peak and 
all! I’ve only met ’er three times, and each time 
strictly in the way of business, but, from the style she 
carries on, I ’ardly dare to think what might ’appen if 
I lost me presence of mind! One of them hold, mas¬ 
terful women,” he sketched. “You know, wears a cape 
with heads on it, and takes a umbrella and a ’andbag 
everywhere with ’er. It’s my firm belief she’s a visitor 
what’s come down to find a ’usband, and a ’usband she 
means to find by ’ook or crook. And it looks to me very 
much as if I’m the-” 

Mr. Clark broke off, and wriggled his shoulders in 
angry distaste. 

“You’re losing your nerve, Sam,” said Mr. Tridge 
compassionately. “Pull yourself together. You take 
and eat them there lollipops, instead of brooding over 
’em. You eat ’em right up, and you’ll ’ave destroyed 
all the evidence!” 

“Why, so I shall! I never thought of that!” cried 
Mr. Clark, brightening visibly. 

He held out the three lozenges in his wide palm for a 
few moments to stare at them in rather a challenging 
way. Then, shooting his hand to his open mouth, he 
impelled the sweets to a remote region within, where 
they caused him chokings and eye-waterings and other 
symptoms of acute discomfort. Eventually bringing 
the lozenges under closer control, he proceeded to crunch 
them with a relentless rapidity that was, however, 
slightly hindered in effectiveness by sundry dental de¬ 
ficiencies. 

He was still sedulously masticating when once again 
the door opened, and now there sauntered in a young 



THE OLD FIRM 


13 


man, trim in person, debonair in deportment, suave in 
pose. His gaze was frank and guileless, and the fresh 
complexion of his smooth-shaven face accorded pleas¬ 
antly with the suggestion of candour and good humour 
conveyed by his general expression. 

“Morning, Peter,” greeted Mr. Tridge, and added at 
once, “what do you know?” 

“ ’Morning, Joe,” cheerily returned this Mr. Peter 
Lock. “ ’Morning, Sam! ’Morning, ’Orace! All four 
of us ’ere together, eh? Anything doing?” he asked, 
looking buoyantly from one to the other of his old ship¬ 
mates. 

“Everything—and nothing,” enigmatically returned 
Mr. Dobb. “If there ain’t nothing doing with some of 
us before long, there’ll be a lot doing.” 

“ ’Orace has got the dismals,” explained Mr. Tridge. 
“Best leave ’im alone for a bit, Peter. You talk to me. 
Do you know anything good for this afternoon?” 

Mr. Lock reflected for a moment and then shook his 
Head. 

“You know, Peter, I don’t think you make the most 
of your chances as billiard marker at the ‘Royal Wil¬ 
liam,’ ” observed Mr. Tridge, quite severely. “With all 
them bookmakers and sporting chaps dropping in so 
often, you ought to learn a lot more than you do.” 

“Daresay,” agreed Mr. Lock unconcernedly, and 
wandered to the wide invitation of the window, and 
stood there, peering out and whistling absently in a 
minor key. 

“I believe you’re keeping something back,” said Mr. 
Tridge, watching him closely. “I believe you do know: 
something!” 

“I don’t say as I don’t,” admitted Mr. Lock. 

“Well, what do you know?” challenged Mr. Tridge. 


14 


THE OLD FIRM 


“I know this,” replied Mr. Lock, swinging round to 
face his friends, “that I've got the sack!” 

“What?” simultaneously ejaculated Mr. Dobb and 
Mr. Tridge, while Mr. Clark was so surprised that he 
incontinently swallowed the last fragments of the loz¬ 
enges, and was thus brought to a prolonged fit of cough¬ 
ing that greatly discounted the drama of Mr. Lock's 
announcement. 

“I've got the sack,” repeated Mr. Lock, waiting 
aloofly till Mr. Clark's discomfort was a mere matter 
of wheezings. “Got it swift and sudden. A week's 
wages in advance an-” 

He concluded his sentence pantomimically, indicat¬ 
ing expulsion with the toe of a hoot. 

“And simply for nothing!” he asserted. “Practi¬ 
cally nothing, any way. Nothing he could prove, at all 
events.” 

“But what was it?” asked Mr. Dobb. 

“Well, I was alone in the billiard-room, and the boss 
happened to sneak in without me seeing him,” nar¬ 
rated Mr. Lock, speaking carefully. “And, just to 
amuse myself, I was practising some conjuring tricks. 
You know, sleight-of-hand, they calls it.” 

“With coins ?” queried Mr. Dobb pointedly. 

“As it happens, it was with coins. My coins, they 
were. I'll admit that the takings-box for billiards hap¬ 
pened to be open, close by, at the time, but they were 
my coins.” 

“Bound to be,” said Mr. Dobb ambiguously. 

“The boss wouldn't give me a chance to explain. Oh, 
most ungentlemanly, he was! And—and—in the end, 
he give me a week's money and I—I left.” 

“Pity you didn't stick to card-tricks, Peter,” mur¬ 
mured Mr. Clark, and Mr. Lock's responding glance 



THE OLD FIRM 


15 


showed that he was divided in mind as to whether this 
was sympathy or innuendo. 

“We four don’t seem lucky, some’ow, do we?” said 
Mr. Dobb to Mr. Tridge, and that gentleman replied 
with a spreading gesture of his open palms, implying 
the fatalist’s recognition of the superior strength of 
destiny. 

“Oh, well, who the dickens cares, any way?” reck¬ 
lessly exclaimed Mr. Lock. “It’s a blessing in disguise, 
really, me getting the sack is!” 

“Pretty good disguise,” commented Mr. Dobb. 

“I’m sick and tired of Shore’aven, and I’m sorry I 
ever left the sea,” stated Mr. Lock. “That’s the place 
for happy doings—here to-day, and dodged off to some 
other port to-morrow! And it’s back to the sea for me, 
boys! Back to the sea again, the very first chance I 
get!” 

“And—and—and damned if I don’t come with you!” 
asserted Mr. Tridge, with fervour. 

“If you goes, I goes, too!” proclaimed Mr. Dobb, 
loudly and definitely. 

“And leave me all alone ’ere by myself with that Mrs. 
Brockway?” bawled Mr. Clark in alarm. “That be 
blowed for a tale! If you chaps goes, I’m coming with 
you! And, if you ask me, the sooner we all goes the 
better.” 

Mr. Clark’s words acted as a clarion call to rally the 
emotional disorder of the moment. There ensued a 
little pause, a wait electric with swift consideration and 
quick decisions. 

The four men stood looking at each other, and 
through the minds of each of them flitted queer, unex¬ 
pected little memories of care-free, sunlit hours long 
past, rough little vignettes of happy rascality and 


16 


THE OLD FIRM 


diverting, inglorious adventure up and down all the 
harbour towns of England. . . . 

And next, without another word being spoken, the 
four friends found that they had somehow come to a 
confused, eager hand-shaking and back-slapping with 
each other. 

“That settles it, then!” shouted Mr. Dobb, in bois¬ 
terous elation. “It’s back to the sea for all of us, eh ?” 

“Oh, if only we could find the right kind of boat to 
suit us!” cried Mr. Tridge. “The four of us all to¬ 
gether again-” 

Mr. Dobb extended his arm and pointed up the har¬ 
bour to where a mastless, time-battered hulk lay moored, 
with sinister significance, in close proximity to a ship- 
breaker’s yard. 

“If only she was sailing again,” said Mr. Dobb wist¬ 
fully. “If only the old ‘Jane Gladys’ was still herself, 
and not sold to a firewood and old-iron firm! If only 
us four were back again, snug and comfortable in her 
fo’c’sle!” 

“ ’Eaven!” succinctly summed up Mr. Clark. 

“And just about as likely—for us!” asserted Mr. 
Tridge sadly. 

But Mr. Dobb, with a terrific frown weighing down 
his brow, had begun to pace the apartment; and at 
sight of this symptom his three companions nudged each 
other. 

“Keep quiet, everybody!” commanded Mr. Clark. 
“ ’Orace ’as started thinking!” 

A tense, strained hush followed while Mr. Dobb, un¬ 
der the eager superveillance of his friends, patrolled the 
room. Twice did he stop, as it were on a note of in¬ 
terrogative optimism; twice did he shake his head and 



THE OLD FIRM 


17 


fretfully resume his perambulation. Then suddenly 
he halted. 

“I got an idea/’ he announced. “I got to think it out 
a bit more first. But we’ll all meet at the ‘ Jolly Sailors’ 
after dinner, and talk things over quiet.” 

“Doings?” breathed Mr. Clark rapturously. “Oh, 
’Orace, is it doings ?” 

“If things falls out right, the biggest doings we’ve 
ever ’ad!” promised Mr. Dobb. 

“What is it, ’Orace?” supplicated Mr. Clark, palpi¬ 
tant with interest. 

“Tell you later on.” 

“Oh, tell me now, ’Orace!” begged Mr. Clark. “I 
don’t feel as I can wait. Tell me now. I don’t want 
no dinner—not if there’s doings a-coming.” 

“Well, I do want my dinner,” returned Mr. Dobb, 
“and I’m going to ’ave it. But I’ll tell you this much— 
I ain’t so sure that we *■ave done with the old ‘Jane 
Gladys’ after all!” 

And, refusing to be wooed to any further divulgence, 
Mr. Dobb took his leave of the company. He made his 
exit with a stiff-kneed stride, a slow swaying of the hips, 
his chin erect, and one hand thrust Hapoleonically into 
the opening of his waistcoat—a very figure of conscious 
dominance. 


CHAPTER II 


F OR the twentieth time within the past ten minutes 
Mr. Samuel Clark studied the clock on the mantel¬ 
shelf of the “Jolly Sailors’ ” tap-room, and then, mak¬ 
ing querulous mumblings, shifted himself restlessly 
about in his chair. 

It was manifest that a nervous anxiety possessed the 
stout ferryman. Indeed, his agitation had already 
found abundant expression in a heated altercation with 
another customer, who had responded humorously to a 
question of Mr. Clark’s with regard to the accuracy of 
the clock’s time-keeping. And this had led the landlord 
to take sides, making remark on the queerness of Mr. 
Clark in now imagining the clock so slow when it was 
always his custom at closing-time to complain noisily 
that this same clock was a good quarter of an hour fast. 

Unfortunately, the landlord’s partizanship had stung 
Mr. Clark to an impolitic irritation, and from the 
jagged peaks of this reckless mood he had assailed his 
opponents with such a storm of furious oratory that, in 
the end, the landlord falsely pretended a concern in his 
licence, and subjugated Mr. Clark by a stern order to 
depart forthwith. 

Mr. Clark, at this decree, had at once been reduced 
to an abject and almost grovelling humility, professing 
utter contrition for what he had said, and vowing that 
he had not really meant a word of what he said, and 
yet, at the same time, confusedljj* arguing that he had 
not spoken without justification. And, eventually, the 
landlord had loftily accepted his apology, and the cus- 
18 


THE OLD FIRM 


19 


tomer had most exasperatingly warned Mr. Clark to be 
careful another time, and had gone off with a perkiness 
which had set Mr. Clark secretly yearning for the con¬ 
junction of darkness and a brick. 

An hour back all this had happened, when Mr. Clark 
had already been in the tap-room ninety minutes, for 
he had come thither at the beginning of the dinner-hour 
equipped with a stack of ship’s biscuits, and a look of 
determination. And, since the wordy disturbance, Mr. 
Clark had sat in a corner, fretting silently at the crawl¬ 
ing drag of time, and the landlord had made a little 
habit of coming frequently to the bar to glance severely 
at Mr. Clark and then going away again without saying 
a word. 

This was the situation when Mr. Joseph Tridge ar¬ 
rived, and Mr. Clark at once gave a little cry of joy, 
and almost hysterically insisted on paying for beer for 
Mr. Tridge to drink. 

“I should never ’ave thought I could ’ave been so 
pleased to see you, Joe!” declared Mr. Clark. “I been 
sitting ’ere wondering sometimes if it wasn’t all a dream 
what ’Orace said.” 

“It may be a dream yet,” Mr. Tridge warned him in 
tones that were so unsprightly that Mr. Clark was at 
once moved to alarm. 

\ “Oh, don’t say that, Joe!” begged the stout ferry¬ 
man. “If you knew ’ow set I am on the idea of going 

back to sea on the old Mane Gladys’-! Do you—do 

you think ’Orace will manage it ?” 

“I dunno,” hesitated Mr. Tridge. “ ’Orace is-” 

He pursed his, ligs^pl shook his head dubiously. 

“ ’Orace is ’Ora fe jrllr. Clark loyally reminded him. 

“Aye, there’s jtlwltbout it,” agreed Mr. Tridge, more 
confidently. “ ’Orace is ’Orace!” 



20 THE OLD FIRM 

Mr. Lock, sauntering in, was just in time to catch 
the remark. 

“Ah! and there’s no one else quite like old ’Orace,” 
he asserted. 

There was a little wait while the three indulged in 
contemplation of the rare qualities of their friend and 
leader. A sunny smile broke out on Mr. Clark’s face; 
Mr. Tridge shook his head in amusement at some re¬ 
miniscence; Mr. Lock chuckled aloud in sudden recol¬ 
lection of one of Mr. Dobb’s audacious achievements. 
And, while these wordless tributes were being paid to 
his powers, Mr. Dobb himself arrived opportunely on 
the scene. 

He entered in a quick, business-like way, and Mr. 
Clark noted, with a thrill of increased hope, that Mr. 
Dobb was wearing his scarf-pin and rings, and had a 
flower in his buttonhole. In something of the style of 
a chairman who is about to preside over a company 
meeting where a big dividend will be declared, Mr. 
Dobb sate himself down at a table and his companions 
eagerly grouped their chairs about him. 

“Well, ’ere we all are!” observed Mr. Dobb very 
pleasantly. “How, the first thing is—who’s got any 
money ?” 

At this familiar query, the brightness of the assembly 
was abruptly eclipsed. A moan of disappointment 
floated from Mr. Clark’s lips, and even Mr. Lock’s 
habitual sunniness could not prevent him from the com¬ 
ment of a bark of sarcastic mirth. 

“Thought as much!” angrily declared Mr. Tridge. 
“That is about all ’Orace’s great ideas ever comes to! 
Well, I’m paying for my own, and no one else’s, so that 
settles that , far as I’m concerned. ‘ ’Oo’s got any 
money V ” he mimicked in high disgust. “Bah!” 


THE OLD FIRM 


21 


“When I say ‘money’,” continued Mr. Dobb imper¬ 
turbably, “I means ‘money.’ I ain’t alluding to a few 
stray coppers and a dirty little tanner or two. I mean 
money —big money. This ain’t a swindle for drinks. 
This is fi-nance. See ? And till I know ’oo’s got any 
money worth mentioning, we can’t get much further.” 

He gazed round him questioningly. Mr. Clark merely 
oscillated bis bead in wonderment at such hardihood. 
Mr. Tridge stared back at him defiantly, and made 
fierce mutterings in bis throat. Mr. Lock, folding bis 
arms, smiled dispassionately at the wall. 

“We must ’ave capital!” postulated Mr. Dobb. 

An entirely unsympathetic silence engulfed the state¬ 
ment. 

“We want to form a signdikit,” explained Mr. Dobb, 
a little desperately. “That’s the idea.” 

Again there was silence, and then Mr. Tridge spoke 
Hn a markedly cold tone of voice. 

“You got up a signdikit once before, ’Orace,” be 
reminded him. 

“Aye, so ’e did, when we was laying in Sharpness 
Docks,” recalled Mr. Clark. “Got up a signdikit to buy 
a calf.” 

“That’s it,” confirmed Mr. Tridge. “ ’Orace col¬ 
lected the money off of us to pay for the calf, and the 
calf went and died.” 

“So be said,” softly interpolated Mr. Lock. 

“Died sudden, afore the rest of us ’ad even seen it,” 
Continued Mr. Tridge. “And the signdikit died sud¬ 
den, too.” 

“I’ve told you a ’undred times,” said Mr. Dobb pa¬ 
tiently, “it ’ad to be destroyed under the foot-and-mouth 
disease. Ho one was more surprised than me when I 
went to fetch it aboard the night we sailed.” 


22 


THE OLD FIRM 


“No, ’Orace,” observed Mr. Tridge, very definitely, 
“signdikits is off!” 

“All right, then,” readily returned Mr. Dobb, rising 
from his chair, “so am I!” 

“ ’Ere, don’t go like that, ’Orace!” cried Mr. Clark. 
“Tell us the idea, before you go, any way.” 

“Well, it starts with a signdikit, as I’ve told you,”' 
said Mr. Dobb, sitting down again at once and staring 
challengingly round him. “We all puts something into 
it.” 

“And one of us,” darkly intimated Mr. Tridge, “takes 
it all out again.” 

“We shares the profits according to what we puts in,” 
explained Mr. Dobb. 

“What profits ?” sceptically asked Mr. Tridge. 

“The profits we earn as a signdikit, of course!” 

“But 'ow do we earn ’em ?” persisted Mr. Tridge. 

Mr. Dobb leaned forward across the table on folded 
arms, and the look on his face was that of a card-player 
about to put down an irresistible trump. 

“Well,” he drawled, “ ’ow does ’Orace & Co., ship¬ 
owners, strike you, eh ?” 

And, when his companions could begin dimly to bring 
the suggestion into focus, he had his moment of tri¬ 
umph. 

Mr. Tridge, making handsome amends for his recent 
behaviour, rose and forcibly pounded Mr. Dobb’s 
shoulder, shouting aloud his unshakable belief that Mr. 
Dobb was a wonder, a knock-out, and a marvel, and 
challenging the universe to produce the equal to Mr. 
Dobb. Mr. Clark, ever a slave to the impulses of emo¬ 
tion, leaped to his feet, and performed a little series 
of pirouettes indicative of joy. Mr. Lock, dropping 
his attitude of amused detachment, captured a hand of 
Mr. Dobb’s and shook it fervently. 


THE OLD FIRM 


23 


“Come into a fortune?” harshly inquired the land¬ 
lord, appearing at this demonstration of high spirits. 

“No,” airily returned Mr. Dobb. “Only coming.” 

None the less, the lingering presence of the landlord 
imposed greater restraint, and the quartet, settling to 
their table again, resumed the gravity of business. 

“Well, this is my idea,” said Mr. Dobb. “We’ll buy 
up the old ‘Jane Gladys.’ We can get ’er for a song. 
She was only bought at the sale to be broke up. Why, 
she didn’t fetch much more than twenty-five quid, and 
with labour so dear to break ’er up, they’ll be glad to sell 
her at the least bit of profit. We’ll get her for a pound 
or two over thirty quid, I’ll bet.” 

“ ’Ow about fitting ’er out again, though ?” soberly 
asked Mr. Tridge. “That’ll cost a good bit.” 

“I’ve thought that out,” responded Mr. Dobb. “We’ll 
raise a loan on the old boat, see, to pay for ’er fitting 
out. All we’ll need in cash is just the money to buy 
her hull and to keep her going for a bit. Us four’ll be 
her crew, and we shan’t draw no wages, because our 
share’ll be a share of the profits.” 

“And we’ll go from port to port, and, knowing what 
we do, and knowing as much as we do,” said Mr. Tridge, 
“it’ll be odd if we don’t work up a good connexion 
pretty quick! That’s the idea, ain’t it ?” 

“Exactly! It’ll be a little gold mine!” prophesied 
Mr. Dobb elatedly. “And us four all together again 
and no end of—of doings! The old life under ’appier 
conditions—’ow’s that, boys ?” 

“Business combined with pleasure,” summarized Mr. 
Lock. 

“We shall be our own masters,” said Mr. Dobb. 
“There’ll be no blessed trouble with skippers and 
owners. We shall be our own bosses!” 

“We shall ’ave to ’ave a skipper, though,” mused Mr. 


24 


THE OLD FIRM 


Tridge, dubiously. “Board o’ Trade, to say nothing of 
someone to act as figger’ead, and ” 

“Well, I thought p’haps as I -■” said Mr. Dobb, 

and coughing modestly. “You know, in a coat with 
brass buttons-” 

“Ordering me about?” inferred Mr. Tridge jealously. 
“No fear!” 

“We’d better ship a skipper,” said Mr. Lock. “It’ll 
save a lot of trouble and ill-feeling. And we can al¬ 
ways sack him and get a new one when we feel like it. 
We shall enjoy that.” 

“I come across our old skipper of the ‘Jane Gladys’ 
the other day,” mentioned Mr. Clark. “Poor old Peter 
Dutt ain’t enjoying retired life ashore on a pension, not 
a little bit. In fact, come to think of it, ’e did tell me 
? e sometime ’ad ’alf a mind to go back to sea. I dare¬ 
say Vd ’ave told me more still, only ’e ’appened to be 
out with Mrs. Dutt at the time. She’d walked on, you 
see, and she give ’im just one call. 'Peter!’ she calls, 
sharp, and ’e regular fell over himself starting to run 
after ’er to catch up with ’er.” 

“Well, maybe we’ll offer him the job,” said Mr. Dobb 
largely. “However, let’s get back to the money part. 
You’ve heard what I’ve got to say. Now who’s got any 
money ?” 

“’Ow much ’ave you got, ’Orace, old chum?” in¬ 
quired Mr. Tridge. 

“Well, for myself,” answered Mr. Dobb, “I daresay 
I wouldn’t mind putting forty quid into the sign- 
dikit.” 

“I daresay,” agreed Mr. Tridge, warily. “But ’ow 
much ’ave you got?” 

“Forty quid, cash and notes,” replied Mr. Dobb. 
“Mostly cash, and nearly all small coins at that. I told 




THE OLD FIRM 


25 


you this morning I’d put a hit aside for a rainy day, 
didn’t I ? Well, this is my little umbrella. See? Now 
what about you, Joe ? ’Ow much are you good for ?” 

Mr. Tridge stroked the nape of his neck and yielded 
himself to the slippery paths of mental arithmetic. 
Twice was he on the point of definite statement, and 
then perceived a flaw in his calculations. Impressing 
the aid of a pencil and paper, he industriously wrote 
down and crossed out figures for some while. Eventu¬ 
ally he felt empowered to say that, if one or two of 
his creditors did not unduly press him, and that if the 
cheque of the new proprietor of the Magnolia Toilet 
Saloon was all that it purported to he, he could under¬ 
take to subscribe twenty pounds to the capital of the 
syndicate. 

Mr. Peter Lock, next approached on the matter, re¬ 
minded the meeting that he was a young married man, 
with a young wife and a very young child, and there¬ 
fore no plutocrat. If, however, he were given a brief 
while in which to look around, he felt sure that ten 
pounds would not be a sum unattainable to him. 

“Seventy pounds, so far,” totalled Mr. Dobb, with 
satisfaction. “That ain’t so bad. And now,” he went 
on, looking none too expectantly at Mr. Clark, “what 
about you, Sam?” 

Mr. Clark coughed, tickled the lobe of his left ear, 
glanced about him helplessly, and then shifted his feet. 

“All I shall ’ave for certain next Saturday,” he said, 
“is thirty-five bob. Thirty-five bob—and out of that 
I’ve got to pay me week’s lodgings. And that’s all I’ve 
got,” he concluded, gazing piteously from one to the 
other—'“that and the claims of old friendship.” 

“Oh, well, we’ll ’ave to sign you on in the ordinary 
way!” said Mr. Tridge, with lofty kindliness. “And 


26 


THE OLD FIRM 


we’ll get our value out of you in work, you can make 
yourself sure.” 

“By rights, Sam,” Mr. Dobb severely reminded him, 
“we oughtn’t to let you in at all. Us three is all capi¬ 
talists, you see, and you’re only a protillerian, as they 
calls it. ’Owever, if you keeps your place, and is prop¬ 
erly grateful, you won’t find us hard masters. Let’s 
see—capital seventy pounds. It’ll be a tight squeeze, 
but we shall manage it,” he foretold with confidence. 

“The tighter the squeeze, the better you always man¬ 
ages it, ’Orace,” declared Mr. Clark, ingratiatingly. 

Three minutes later, after offering a libation to the 
throne of the gread god, Luck, the four set off from the 
“Jolly Sailors” to advance, without delay, the affairs 
of the syndicate. The proximity of the “King’s Head” 
prompted another generous propitiation of that same 
god, Luck, and when they had unstintedly done him 
honour there, they repeated the ceremony at the “Eight 
Bells,” and so felt at last fully insured for the first steps 
in their enterprise. 

Arm in arm did Mr. Dobb and Mr. Tridge and Mr. 
Lock march up Shorehaven’s ancient High Street. As 
they went they debated alluring possibilities, such as the 
carrying of passengers with a liking for card-playing, 
or quoting special rates of freightage for distilled goods, 
or obtaining premiums for apprentices. And behind 
them stalked Mr. Clark, subdued, but uneasy, for he 
had been reminded to keep his place as a hireling when, 
a few minutes back, he had complained because a glass 
On which he had only just started had been inad¬ 
vertently emptied by Mr. Tridge. 

Half-way along the High Street, Mr. Dobb parted 
from his fellows, and entered an office, and was there 
engaged in negotiation for awhile. Emerging at length, 


THE OLD FIRM 


n 


lie beamed upon bis companions, and told them all was 
well, and that the refitting of the “Jane Gladys” would 
present no difficulties. As soon as the syndicate could 
produce proof of ownership, the enterprising ship¬ 
builder Mr. Dobb had just interviewed would permit 
a limited, but still adequate credit. 

An understanding such as this amply demonstrated 
the effectiveness of the rites which had been paid to 
the mighty Luck, and common prudence suggested 
further honour to that deity to woo continued favour. 
Therefore, then, was the “Cutlass and Cannon” visited, 
and after that the “Full-Rigged Ship.” And here 
casual mention of the name of the “Jane Gladys” 
brought from a frequenter the gratifying intelligence 
that the present owners of that disreputable hulk had 
professed an entire willingness to rid themselves of her 
for twenty-five pounds. 

“Said that a fortnight ago, did they?” queried Mr. 
Dobb. “Then we’ll go right along now and offer ’em 
twenty! Finance—that’s our game!” he vaunted, with 
an airy twirl of his fingers in the air. “ ’Igh fi-nance!” 

And thereon the party set forth for the ship-breaker’s 
yard, and now Mr. Clark was promoted to a closer 
equality with his shipmates, so that Shorehaven’s nar¬ 
row thoroughfares were scandalized by the riotous 
progress of four citizens joined arm in arm and evi¬ 
dencing desire to sing and laugh and talk simultane¬ 
ously. And thus, ebullient, the syndicate arrived at the 
gates of the ship-breaker’s domain, and Horace, to the 
accompaniment of cheers from his supporters, prepared 
to make his way to the proprietor of the business. 

“I shall start by offering him fifteen,” he said. “And 
if they ’angs out for more than twenty, I shall pretend 
to break off the deal.” 


28 


THE OLD FIRM 


In view of this strategy, none of his comrades was 
surprised to see him emerge from the ship-breaker’s 
office within a minute of entering it. But they were 
not quite prepared for the look of angry dismay on his 
face, and his first words came as a distinct shock to 
them. 

“Been soldl” he announced curtly. 

“ ’Oo’s been sold ?” asked Mr. Tridge. 

“She has—the old Mane Gladys’! Sold to someone. 
Sold three days ago!” 

“But—but—but we’re a signdikit,” urged Mr. 
Tridge, a little hazily. “Did you tell ’im that, ’Orace ?” 

“I told him a lot of things before that blessed clerk 
of his showed me out! I reckon as we’ve been swindled 
out of our rights! After all, we was going to buy her, 
wasn’t we ?” 

“Let alone us ’aving served on ’er,” contended Mr. 
Clark warmly. “If there’s such a thing as law, that 
ought to count!” 

“People ain’t got no right to come along, taking the 
very bread out of our mouths!” observed Mr. Tridge 
with rancour. 

Heavily, dully, the four confederates wandered away 
from the scene of their disappointment, and somehow 
found themselves silently filing into the “East India* 
man Inn.” And here they discovered a little plump 
gentleman who greeted them with a high good-will, 
nicely tempered with hint of superior rank. 

“ ’Afternoon, sir,” said Mr. Dobb, politely enough, 
for the presence of Captain Peter Dutt, their former 
skipper on the “Jane Gladys,” was sufficient indica¬ 
tion of imminent hospitality. 

“Hot getting too ’igh and mighty to be seen talking to 
a poor old sea-captain, then ?” smiled Mr. Dutt. “And 


THE OLD FIRM 


29 


you all doing so well, too! Business as good with you 
as ever, I suppose, ’Orace?” 

“Better than ever,” affirmed Mr. Dobb. 

“And Joe a regular lord in ’is own shaving parlour, 
and Peter snug and comfortable in a steady berth, and 
old Sam Clark, there, master-mariner of a ferry. Ah, 
you boys ’ave done well,” approved the little captain. 

“We ’ave, sir,” their pride impelled them to ac¬ 
quiesce. 

“Shore life has suited you better than it suits me,” 
remarked Captain Dutt slowly. 

“Ah! and ’ow is Mrs. Dutt, sir?” courteously asked 
Mr. Dobb. “Quite herself ?” 

“Quite!” said the skipper, and seemed to repress 
further information concerning his spouse. “By the 
way,” he went on, leaning towards them, “I’m going 
to tell you a little secret. I’m going back to the sea.”' 

He drew back to regard the effect of the announce¬ 
ment upon them, and complacently wagged his head at 
their murmurs. 

“I am, and you’ll never guess the old boat I’m going 
in command of, neither!” 

“Hot—not—not the old Mane Gladys’?” stammered 
Mr. Dobb. 

“That’s the boat. The old Mane Gladys.’ There’s 
a gent—well, he’s been quite a gent to me, any way— 

he’s bought her, and- And this is in confidence, 

mind. I don’t want my missis to get to hear of it just 
yet.” 

A ready chorus promised secrecy of the deepest. 

“Aye, a gent’s bought the old boat—a gent with pots 
and pots of money. Some folks might call him a 
profiteer, but that don’t seem to me altogether respect¬ 
ful. But he’s going to have the old Mane Gladys’ fitted 



30 


THE OLD FIRM 


out as a sort of yacht. Rosewood etceterys! Silk cur¬ 
tains l” mentioned Captain Dutt in tones almost rev¬ 
erent. “Up’olstery! Electric light!” 

“And you’ve got the ticket ?” queried Mr. Dobb, 
blinking. 

“Aye, I got to hear what was in the wind, and I got a 
gent who knows a gent who knows him to put in a word 
for me. He don’t know anything about the sea. Seems 
to me all he wants is a chance to knock about and spend 
a lot more money.” 

“ ’S’trewth!” murmured Mr. Dobb. “A job on the 
old ‘Jane Gladys’ under them conditions—what a 
chance for doings!” 

“And I don’t mind telling you,” continued Captain 
Dutt, “in a way, I’m sorry you’re all doing so well 
ashore. You see, he left it to me to engage a crew, and 
naturally I’d like chaps who served with me before, 
and-” 

Within thirty seconds the personnel of the “Jane 
Gladys’ ” crew was a matter abundantly and emphati¬ 
cally and all but legally settled. Long after Captain 
Dutt had quitted the “East Indiaman,” libation after 
libation was still being poured at the altar of the great 
god Luck. 

“I know I shall wake up in a minute,” Mr. Clark had 
come to muttering over and over again, with an amazed 
incredulity in his own good fortune. 

Mr. Tridge blissfully dreamed long dreams of him¬ 
self in a snow-white costume, reclining on the upholstery 
of a boat owned by a millionaire, and therefore certain 
to be liberally found in choice and rare liquors. Mr. 
Lock, for his part, saw visions of himself promoted to 
a sort of super-stewardship. 

And Mr. Horace Dobb did nothing but remind the 


THE OLD FIRM 


31 


company that he, and he alone, had set in train the 
sequence of visits which had brought them to so en¬ 
trancing a prospect. 

“But don’t forget that this here toff is really the man 
what has done us out of our rights with the ‘Jane 
Gladys/ ” he requested his hearers. “If it ’adn’t been 
for him, she’d ’ave been our boat by now. So I reckon 
we ’ave every right to try to get our own back” 

“What do you mean, ’Orace?” asked Mr. Lock, 
“How can we get our own back ?” 

“I don’t know,” admitted Mr. Dobb frankly. “But 
there’s something I don’t quite understand what is mak¬ 
ing my mouth water. ‘Rosewood etceterys,’ ‘pots of 
money,’ ‘don’t know nothing about the sea,’ ” he quoted. 
“Things like that mean chances to chaps like us. P’raps 
we’ll still be the owners of the ‘Jane Gladys’ some day. 
[Who knows?” 

“ ’Orace, don’t be too ambitious,” warned Mr. Tridge. 
“Don’t you try to pick up more than you can lift.” 

“Mind you, I don’t really know what I do mean. But 
there’s something theref* stated Mr. Dobb, tapping his 
forehead. “Hinstinct, I suppose it is. And it tells me 
that there’s big days ahead. Anyway, the signdikit is 
by no means busted, and we’ve still got our capital if we 
want it. Don’t let any of us forget for a moment that 
we’re still ‘ ’Orace & Co.’ Drink up, boys! I give you 
the toast—‘ Orace & Co.’—good luck to ’em!” 

They honoured the toast to the very last driblet in 
their glasses and then, roseate, sat back and looked at 
each other out of bright, bright eyes. 


CHAPTER III 


G OSSIPS of Shorehaven, lingering at each other’s 
gates during the flaccid hours of the afternoon, or, 
if the opposite sex, foregathering on the swingbridge 
of the harbour in the cool of the evening, unanimously 
agreed that never before had there been such a wealth 
of local material for comment and criticism as the past 
six weeks had lavished forth. 

To begin with, there had been piquant developments 
in the commercial life of the little town. Though only 
affecting two establishments, each of small size, the 
changes loomed large in public interest, for the two 
enterprises shared an ethical atmosphere peculiarly 
their own. 

Of these businesses, one was the Magnolia Toilet 
Saloon, and it had recently passed from the proprietor¬ 
ship of Mr. Joseph Tridge. y 

Ho one who was aware of the consistent inaccuracy 
of Mr. Tridge’s sporting calculations was surprised by 
the transfer of the saloon to alien hands. It was the 
tardiness of its incidence that gave spice to public dis¬ 
cussion of the matter. 

The other establishment which had become involved 
in change was the little shop in Fore Street, heretofore 
inspired and controlled by Mr. Horace Dobb. 

Completely transferred now was the character of its 
trade. Ho longer did it concern itself with the comings 
nnd goings of second-hand furniture and third-hand 
oddments. The whole of its musty, rusty stock had 
32 


THE OLD FIRM 


S3 


been acquired to the uttermost cracked teapot in one 
comprehensive deal, by a rival trader. 

At present the shop made hid for patronage by ex¬ 
hibiting in its window an unpractised confusion of 
cheap stationery and homely medicaments and inex¬ 
pensive adjuncts to the feminine toilette. 

Mr. Dobb now only too evidently had no active share 
in the conduct of its business, though sometimes he was 
to be seen in shirt sleeves and slippers at the doorway, 
sunning himself somewhat defiantly, and Hinging terse 
replies over his shoulder into the interior of the shop. 

But, when questioned as to his intentions for the fu¬ 
ture, he would merely shrug his shoulders, as though 
to intimate that the subject was really not worth dis¬ 
cussion. . . . 

Again, Shorehaven found much to exercise its mind 
in the equivocal behaviour of Mr. Samuel Clark. 

That stout and ancient functionary, when at length 
his actions had inevitably brought him under catechism, 
roundly declared that his sole desire, as a widower of 
long standing, was that he should be left in peace by all 
females for the remainder of his years. 

In view of this statement, his behaviour towards one 
lady in particular was entirely baffling. 

She was a Mrs. Brockway, a stranger to the locality, 
and she had made a sort of hobby of using the ferry¬ 
boat, though only when Mr. Clark was in charge. And 
he, despite his professed misogyny, was frequently to be 
observed resting on his sculls in mid-stream in order to 
wag an arch forefinger at his fair freight. Moreover, 
when setting her down at the landing-place, he had sev¬ 
eral times been overheard to address to her parting 
words which, when shrewdly analysed, proved to be 
not completely devoid of tender significance. 


34 


THE OLD FIRM 


Yet, when this Mrs. Brockway might come again to 
the ferry, she would find a substitute for Mr. Clark 
officiating in his boat, while Mr. Clark himself, though 
he alleged distressing ailments as reasons for his ab¬ 
sence from duty, was in the window of the “Jolly 
Sailors” all the time, nodding and smiling with cynical 
derision at the lady’s disappointment. 

Also, there was the case of Mr. Peter Lock for the 
town to condemn. 

A month ago, and more, had Mr. Lock precipitately 
quitted the employ of the “Royal William” Hotel, and 
still he had not yet been detected in the act of en¬ 
deavouring to secure another situation. 

That he should find other outlet, and, preferably, 
other scenes for his labour, was a course constantly 
recommended to him by those who wearied of hearing 
him narrate diverting anecdotes which ended unexpect¬ 
edly in a direct financial appeal. Mr. Lock, however, 
always burked the topic of work by asserting his com¬ 
plete agreement with the axiom that points the futility 
of meeting trouble halfway. 

Shorehaven, aware that Mr. Lock possessed a wife, a 
child, and a great many creditors, restively sought to 
controvert this philosophy 'of his, but Mr. Lock merely 
smiled his ingenuous smile, and expressed his unwav¬ 
ering confidence in the workings of Providence. 

But above all these personal matters, towering su¬ 
preme in public interest, was the astounding change of 
fortune which had come to the erstwhile unsavoury 
barque, the “Jane Gladys.” 

After a long and smudgy career of petty traffic upon 
the nearer seas, she had actually been awaiting disin¬ 
tegration at a shipbreaker’s yard, when she was re¬ 
prieved, at the last moment, from so conclusive a fate. 


THE OLD FIRM 


35 


Not only was her disruption arrested, but it was in¬ 
definitely postponed, for the whims of destiny had 
ordained that she was to he refitted and set again to 
creeping about the surface of the waters. 

Shorehaven soon contrived to learn that the saviour 
of the “Jane Gladys” was a gentleman of extraordinary 
wealth. The fact that he had garnered his riches dur¬ 
ing the closing stages of that great war which so thor¬ 
oughly achieved its splendid ideal of preventing all 
future warfare, could not but lay his commercial 
methods open to suspicion. So extensive was his opu¬ 
lence, however, that respect for it almost immediately 
eclipsed every other emotion in the breasts of Shore- 
haven’s population. 

It was the design of this gentleman, Shorehaven was 
permitted to learn, to proceed hither and thither upon 
the sea with an ease and dignity appropriate to his 
wealth. To that end had he purchased the “Jane 
Gladys,” acquiring her in preference to the orthodox 
steam-yacht of his compeers, because he was tempera¬ 
mentally averse from ignoring anything which looked 
like a bargain. 

But, having secured the “Jane Gladys,” he at once 
took steps to make her more congruous with his own 
high estate, and, in furtherance of that noble aim, he 
had issued a sequence of stupendous orders. 

His commands secured quick obedience. A ruthless 
legion forthwith swarmed about the “Jane Gladys,” 
prising up boards, tearing down bulkheads, and drag¬ 
ging asunder her very vitals, so that in the briefest of 
periods she was but sheer, empty hulk. 

And next, with the same inexorable rapidity, the 
policy of reconstruction proceeded. A cohort of work¬ 
men permeated her, measuring and sawing and ham- 


36 


THE OLD FIRM 


mering and painting and varnishing. Craftsmen came 
from distant London to busy themselves in her interior 
with costly fabrics and rare woods and insulated wires. 

Tapering new masts did she receive, as in a day, and 
experts clung aloft to them, and weaved rigging about 
her as a spider spins its strands. Her spars seemed 
to come in the twinkling of an eye, and when next the 
townspeople looked, snowy sails were already furled 
along her yards. 

Scarce an hour of the day or night was there when 
she was not the scene and subject of embellishment. 
Swiftly was her apotheosis attained, and, within fifty 
days of her change of ownership, she lay at the quay¬ 
side, a thing of luxury, delectable in all save her his¬ 
tory. ... 

Came a morning when the last hatch of workmen 
looked round the “Jane Gladys” with self-complacent 
nods for the fruits of their labour, and then stepped 
from her deck for the last time. The “Jane Gladys” 
was equipped and ready to put to sea again. 

All that morning, the people of Shorehaven contrived 
opportunity to drift down to the harbour to gaze upon 
this miracle that had been wrought under their very 
eyes. A queer little sense of surfeit possessed them. 
Vaguely they felt that they had had their fill of excite¬ 
ment, and that any future surprises life might hold 
could only come as anti-climaxes after so cumulative 
a space of excitement. 

In this satiate mood, the inhabitants gazed long min¬ 
utes upon the glorified “Jane Gladys” and returned to 
their homes. Perpending the future flatness of exist¬ 
ence, they swept up and down the narrow, twisting 
streets. 

Eldering inhabitants, hovering between sleep and 


THE OLD FIRM 


37 


wakefulness in their after-dinner chairs, blinked crossly 
at the unwonted activity outdoors. Next, roused to a 
querulous curiosity by the continuous hurried passing 
of footsteps, they went to the threshold to inquire. What 
they were told there drew them to the corner of the 
road to seek verification. And in the end, utterly re¬ 
fusing to believe the tidings except on the evidence of 
their own eyes, they were brought to the High Street, 
the goal of all the hastening feet, the scene that staged 
what proved to be, after all, the culminating and tran¬ 
scendent surprise of the past six weeks. . . . 

Adown the centre of Shorehaven’s ancient highway 
there progressed four individuals, arm-in-arm, saunter¬ 
ing in a dilettante way, and affecting to be quite un¬ 
aware of the sensation they were creating. All of them 
were only too well known to the community, but the 
people, pressing eagerly forward, peered at them as 
though they were visitants, from a world so strange that 
even now their actuality might reasonably be doubted. 

The four individuals varied widely in personality, 
for one was aged and plump, and another was slim and 
youthful, while the third was remarkable for a kind of 
pallid sleekness of complexion and an extraordinary 
air of patrician superiority, and the fourth was big¬ 
boned and clumsy of feature and gait. Despite these 
differences, all four exhibited uniformity in their garb, 
and patently it was this similarity of costume that gave 
rise to the present civil commotion. 

Townspeople trotted and shuffled from alleys and by¬ 
ways to gaze in speechless incredulity at the spectacle 
presented by Messrs. Clark, Lock, Dobb, and Tridge. 
Bearded amphibians came clattering up in sea-boots 
from the waterside to stare and shake their heads and 
stare again. [Women marvelled on a high, bewildered 


38 


THE OLD FIRM 


note: children, open-mouthed, walked backwards before 
the quartet, expecting they knew not what: old, old 
inhabitants looked, and rubbed their ancient eyes, and 
looked again, and then turned to each other to challenge 
memory to recall an equal shock. 

For new and spacious trousers of blue serge graced 
the legs of each of the four, and their heads were 
crowned with conical caps of red wool, with tassels that 
bobbed and swung jauntily over the left ear. All four 
wore pristine blue jerseys of a closeness of fit calcu¬ 
lated to set off the figure to advantage, so that the curves 
of Mr. Clark’s svelte waist were even more accentuated 
than usual. 

And vivid across the chest of each jersey flamed the 
name “Jane Gladys,” embroidered in large letters of 
scarlet. 

So, in their pageantry, the four moved onward, with¬ 
out acclaim, without derision, but hemmed about, as 
it were, with great banking clouds of stunned, sullen 
astonishment. And thus they devastated the High 
Street, leaving behind them a mere perspective of star¬ 
ing inaction, and next they traversed Bridge Street, 
with similar effect. 

And so they came at last to the harbour, and here, 
after unbending to a ribald kissing of hands to their 
spectators, they walked up the gang-plank of the “Jane 
Gladys,” and boarded again the ship which, in its for¬ 
mer life of ignominy, had been their home for so many 
guileful seasons and so many picaresque cruises. 

A globular little figure bounced across the deck to 
meet them, dazzling their eyes with the coruscating 
newness of his brass-buttoned uniform. 

“Come aboard, sir!” smartly reported Mr. Dobb, and 


THE OLD FIRM 


39 


implied generous recognition of the enhanced status of 
the “Jane Gladys” by flourishing his palm in ceremonial 
salute. 

“Pleased to see you, me men,” responded Captain 
Peter Dutt, with unprecedented stiffness. 

Mr. Dobb’s eyebrows jerked up <at this exhibition of 
arrogance in one who, aforetime, had always cultivated 
the friendliest of terms with his myrmidons. Mr. 
Tridge remarked obscurely that it was funny how 
quickly a little new paint mounted to the head. 

“Here we are, here we are, here we are again!” 
blithely chanted Mr. Lock, making apt employment of 
a once-popular refrain. 

“ ’Ardly the time or place for singing, is it, Peter ?” 
severely asked Captain Dutt, and these few words and 
the manner of their delivery amply indicated that the 
new splendours of the “Jane Gladys” had engendered 
a desire in her captain’s mind to inculcate an altered 
and improved discipline aboard his charge. 

The four sailormen looked at their skipper and 
smiled, as fond parents may smile at the presumptions 
of a child. 

“Oh, well, we are ’ere, ain’t we?” contended Mr. 
Tridge, and lighted a cigarette. 

Captain Dutt frowned heavily. This manifestation 
of displeasure passing quite unheeded, he coughed, as 
it were, remindingly, and cocked his head. 

“Soon ’ave that cold of yours better when we gets out 
to sea, cap’n,” Mr. Tridge told him, with an affectionate 
smile. 

“There’s some things I want to see lost before we gets 
out to sea,” said the skipper. “Shore manners, for 
instance.” 


40 


THE OLD FIRM 


“’Ere, ’ere!” cordially endorsed Mr. Clark. “We 
don’t want no la-di-da bowing and scraping aboard ’ere, 
do we, sir 2” 

“Discipline-” began tbe skipper on a dogmatic 

note. 

“ ’S’truth, what’s in all them big cases ?” interrupted 
Mr. Tridge with the liveliest curiosity. “Grub ?” 

“By the looks of it,” hazarded Mr. Clark. “I do ’ope 
there’s plenty of jam. I’m very partial to a hit of 
jam, I am. A hit of water-crease is all very well to give 
a relish to your tea, and so’s radishes, too, though 
they’re dodgy, tricky things for them what ain’t got 
too many teeth. But jam-” 

“For myself,” confessed Mr. Dobb, “a nice tin o’ 
pineapple chunks-” 

“We was talking about discipline,” said Captain 
Dutt, striking in to recover the talk from this dietetic 
divergence. “JSTow, I want you men to understand, 
right from the start-off-” 

“Bless you, cap’n, we understand!” said Mr. Dobb. 
“We haven’t sailed with you all those times in this very 
boat without coming to understand each others’ ways. 
Of course, there’ll be a certain amount of what you 
might call discipline, but-” 

“But not enough to spoil friendship,” put in Mr. 
Lock, and Mr. Tridge’s nod betokened that this phrased 
the situation very neatly. 

“Yes, we’ll stand by you all right, sir, if you stands 
by us,” promised Mr. Tridge. “We’ve dragged you 
through more scrapes than one, and we can drag you 
through a lot more yet.” 

“ISTo, don’t be uneasy about us, cap’n,” begged Mr. 
Dobb, “You won’t find us altered a little bit.” 

“We ain’t the sort to be altered,” affirmed Mr. Tridge. 






THE OLD FIRM 


41 


“Not by anything,” added Mr. Lock, not without a 
certain peculiar emphasis. 

“Don’t you worry about us recommended Mr. Clark. 
“We understand you all right, cap’n. And I should 
think you understands us by now.” 

“Mind you,” remarked Mr. Dobb, in tolerant accents, 
“I don’t say you ain’t got your faults as a skipper. Us 
chaps in the fo’c’sle may not always be able to see eye- 
to-eye with you. But you can depend on us being the 
same ’elpful friends of yours as we’ve always been, 
right from the beginning. So don’t you start worrying 
yourself about discipline. We’ll look after ourselves 
all right.” 

Captain Dutt eyed his crew in rather a bleak and 
helpless way, but Mr. Dobb was smiling back at him in 
the most encouraging manner. The other three mari¬ 
ners, with suggestion of a satisfied audience dispersing, 
were already strolling away to examine their surround¬ 
ings. 

“Oh, well, I dare say you’d like to look over the boat, 
now,” said the skipper, belatedly, and waved a permis¬ 
sive hand. 

“Begin as we mean to go on—that’s my motter,” said 
Mr. Dobb to his companions as they set forth on their 
tour of inspection. “Anyway, we ain’t lost our knack 
of ’andling the skipper, thanks be! That’s one asset to 
* ’Orace & Co.’ as a start-off.” 

Rather more than an hour later, the four shipmates 
arranged themselves floridly about their edition de luxe 
of a forecastle, and gratefully yielded their minds to 
pleasant imaginings of chicanery and defraudment. 
Silent were they for a considerable while, their unteth¬ 
ered thoughts browsing contentedly upon all sorts of 
peccant possibilities, while high above them shone the 


42 


THE OLD FIRM 


sun of their present fortune, warming them with a fine 
sub-conscious sense of prosperity and well-being. 

“She’ll do!” said Mr. Dobb at last. “A man’s got 
chances aboard ’ere. I ain’t asking for anything bet¬ 
ter.” 

“Very nicely she’s been re-conditioned, that I will 
say,” testified Mr. Clark. “Not so ’omely, may be, but 
certainly ’andsomer and ’igher class.” 

“I like them cupboards in the smoking-room, where 
they’re going to keep the decanters and cigars, etcetery,” 
approved Mr. Dobb. “Flimsy sort of locks they’d got, 
did you notice ?” 

“ ’Course I did!” returned Mr. Tridge, indignant 
at this aspersion on his intelligence. “Besides which, 
there’s a big skylight right between ’em. Very trustful, 
unsuspicious, Christian sort of arrangement, I thought 
it.” 

“I don’t quite see what ’e wanted to waste all that 
space on a bathroom for, though,” criticized Mr. Clark. 
“ ’Owever, I dare say *e knows. Still on the ’ole, the 
old boat ’as been improved wonderfully. Sort of cross 
between a soda-fountain and the entrance to a picture- 
theatre, she is, now. And I must say I admire the 
dec’rations in the saloon. Very ’andsome!” 

“A bit ro-cocky,” demurred Mr. Lock, to uphold his 
reputation for superior taste and education. 

“Anyway, they’ll do all right for us” stated Mr. 
Dobb. “The sort of chaps we’ll be entertaining in the 
saloon, when the old boat is our property, won’t 
know-” 

“Ain’t you looking a bit ahead, ’Orace ?” queried Mr. 
Tridge. “Ambition’s all very well, but I reckon you 
wants a microscope, not a telescope, to see our chances 
of ever owning the boat ourselves.” 



THE OLD FIRM 


43 


“If she don’t become our property in the end,” 
stoutly returned Horace, “it won’t be my fault.” 

“Yes, but ’ow are we going to get ’er, ’Orace ?” very 
pertinently demanded Mr. Clark. 

“Pyrits,” playfully suggested Mr. Tridge. “We’re 
all going to mutiny, and seize the old boat, and be 
pyrits ever after.” 

“Go on—are we, ’Orace ?” appealed the startled Mr. 
Clark, in all seriousness. “A bit risky, won’t it be ? Of 
course, if you think it’s all right,” he added, being ever 
of a simple unswerving loyalty to Mr. Dobb’s genius, 
“there’s no more to be said, though it certainly is a bit 
more than I bargained for.” 

“Just ’ow we’re going to do the trick, I don’t quite 
know,” said Horace. “But I’ve got several ideas float¬ 
ing about at the back of my brain, and, one of these 
days, one of ’em will get stranded, and I’ll have a good 
look at it. There’s no knowing what we shan’t con¬ 
trive if only we all keeps our eyes open and our mouths 


shut.” 


“Wonder what the new owner is like,” mused Mr. 
Lock. 

“I hope Vs one of them quick, impulsive chaps,” 
said Horace. “That sort of chap, with plenty of 
money-” 

; “Why, ’e might give us the blessed boat one day!” 
i cried Mr. Clark, sitting up expectantly at the very 



f “ ’E might,” sceptically conceded Mr. Tridge. 
“Seems to me, a quick, impulsive boss is far more likely 
to give us the sack one day.” 

“Oh, well, we shall be seeing him presently,” re¬ 
marked Mr. Lock. “The skipper’s expecting the party 
aboard any time now.” 



44 


THE OLD FIRM 


“I understand the new owner has got ’is niece com¬ 
ing with him for the first trip,” mentioned Horace. 
“Rather a pity you and me are both married already, 
eh, Peter? But, come to think of it, there’s still a 
chance!” he went on excitedly. “You ain’t married, 
are you, Joe?” 

“Depends,” doubtfully replied Mr. Tridge. “I ain’t 
sure of the law quite. At all events, it’s seven years 
since she last saw me.” 

“Anyway, ’Orace, I’m eligible,” volunteered Mr. 
Clark. “I’m a genuine widower, don’t forget. Hot 
as I’m at all keen on a second attempt, as you know, but 
if the young lady is ’andsome and good-tempered, 
and-” 

“You’ve got your Mrs. Brockway,” Mr. Tridge re¬ 
minded him. 

“ ’Er ?” ejaculated Mr. Clark, and made a grimace of 
extreme distaste. “Hot if she comes up the gang-plank 
on ’er bended knees to me! She’s seen the last of me, 
I can tell you!” 

“Pity not to let ’er see you in them new togs, Sam,” 
bantered Horace. “We didn’t half make ’em stare, 
coming down ’Igh Street, didn’t we ? I could see every 
one thinking what a sin and a shame it was that us 
four should get the job.” 

“Ah, and they ’ad more than half a mind to let the 
new owner know what they thought our characters was, 
too,” supplemented Mr. Tridge. “And then they 
changed their minds. They decided they’d rather see 
us four out of Shore’aven at any price.” 

“Some’ow we ain’t proved a popular success in the 
town,” murmured Mr. Clark in tones of soft regret. 
“Jealousy, I suppose. It was very good of the skipper, 
though, to keep it a secret about us being signed on ’ere. 



THE OLD FIRM 


45 


That Mrs. Brockway ain’t ’ad a chance to come crying 
and snuffling round me because I’m going to leave ’er. 
If she’d guessed what was up, she’d ’ave been trying 
’ard to get me to make a lot of silly, sentimentalical 
promises before I sailed.” 

“The skipper kept it quiet for ’is own sake,” ex¬ 
plained Mr. Tridge. “ ’E didn’t want it come to the 
ears of his wife till it was too late for ’er to interfere. 
Some’ow she don’t seem to think we’re good company 
for her husband.” 

“My missis took my going very calm, that I must 
say,” remarked Horace. “ ‘ ’I’m sailing on the “ Jane 
Gladys” to-night,’ I tells ’er when I come down dressed 
in these togs. ‘Oh V she says, and just goes on with ’er 
dinner. ‘It’s no good your making a fuss, because 
everything is fixed up,’ I tells her. And she says, ‘Why 
ever do you think I should make a fuss V And then I 
says, ‘I don’t know ’ow long I’ll be away,’ and she says, 
‘All right, I’ll try and change some of your shore-clothes 
for a few geraniums. I’ve always wanted a pot or two 
of flowers for the parlour window.’ ” 

“There’s two or three people I owe money to,” said 
Mr. Tridge indolently. “They’ll be surprised at me 
clearing out, I reckon. Well, I say, ‘two or three,’ but 
really-” 

“Anyway, anyone will have a job to serve a sum¬ 
mons on me for awhile,” said Mr. Lock, and deemed 
that he had said sufficient. 

And with that the forecastle came again to a cosy, 
meditative quiet. 



CHAPTER IV 


A FULL hour passed before the four somnolent 
sailormen were disturbed, firstly, by tbe cburring 
of a motor-car on tbe adjacent quay side, and, next, by 
tbe tramp of feet arriving on tbe deck above. 

“Tumble up, there—tumble up!” Captain Dutt was 
importantly bawling. “All ’ands on deck! Tumble up, 
my lads, tumble up, now!” 

“Why, tbe old man’s getting quite nautical I” lazily 
commented Mr. Tridge. 

“He must ’ave been reading some of them books 
about sea-life,” theorized Horace. “Wonderful educa¬ 
tional, they are, to ignorant chaps like us. He’ll start 
calling out ‘Shiver me timbers!’ soon, see if be don’t. 
I once read a book-” 

Mr. Dobb’s literary reminiscence was truncated by a 
second summons from tbe skipper, similarly framed, 
but even more urgently stressed. 

“What’s ’e want to keep shouting like that for ?” 
complained Mr. Tridge aggrievedly. “If ’e thinks I’m 
going to take any notice, ’e’ll ’ave to shout a bit quieter. 
Putting on airs like that, after all tbe years we’ve 
sailed with ’im!” 

“I suppose ’e’s showing off to someone on deck,” 
guessed Mr. Clark and yawned mightily. “I do think 
’e might ’ave a bit of consideration for us, though! I 

was just in the middle of a lovely nap when-” 

“Yeh lazy, loafing lot of lubbers, tumble up, will 
yeh ?” passionately bellowed the voice of the skipper. 



THE OLD FIRM 


47 


“Yeh discipline’s all gone to blazes, but I’ll send yeh 
there to fetch it back before I’ve done with yeh! Are 
yeh coming up, or ’ave I got to come and fetch yeh, 
yeh sleepy-’eaded pack of snoring, dust-covered Me- 
thusalums P 

At these harshnesses, the four mariners slowly 
brought themselves to sitting postures. There was a 
little wait while each allowed himself time to realize 
the full measure of Captain Dutt’s temerity. 

And then the voice of their skipper, modulated to 
little more than a whisper, again came down to them. 

“Do come on up, boys !” he was entreating, in accents 
almost piteous. “You might! You’re making me look 
so stoopid, with the new owner aboard ’ere, too, and all.” 

“In that case, we’d better make a good impression to 
start off with,” Mr. Dobb recommended his shipmates. 
“We can tell the skipper what we think about y im, after¬ 
wards.” 

Hastening on deck, and passing their captain with 
their chins tilted offendedly, the four mariners found 
themselves in presence of a grouping which at once 
monopolized their trained powers of observation. Even 
the curt audacity with which Captain Dutt ordered 
them to stand in line was allowed to pass unchallenged 
by them, so intent was their scrutiny of the Olympian 
party that had descended on the “Jane Gladys.” 

A short, clean-shaven individual occupied the fore¬ 
ground, dominating the whole composition of the group, 
as a pictured general stands out from the massed por¬ 
traits of his staff. 

A little more than middle-aged, but still far from 
old, was this individual, and his personality radiated a 
perky, aggressive self-satisfaction. His small eyes were 
quick and penetrating, his jaw was heavy without being 


48 


THE OLD FIRM 


firm, and his upper lip looked over-long. He was em¬ 
phatic in a knicker-bocker suit of light, checked tweed, 
and his cloth cap was pushed well to the hack of his 
head, revealing his taste in hairdressing to favour an 
ungrudging use of the scissors. 

The thumb of his left hand was thrust into the arm¬ 
hole of his waistcoat, and its four companion fingers 
continually tapped on his chest, as though they were 
playing a triumphant psean to his own success. The 
other hand was employed in taking a cigar to and from 
his mouth in the consciously elaborate style of those who 
come late in life to the use of tobacco in that form. 

On the right of this gentleman, but a little behind 
him, stood a lady, unassertively clad, save with regard 
to her hat, which was a polychromatic turmoil of 
feathers and flowers and ribbons. Her countenance was 
uninspired and uninspiring. Her pursed lips and a 
certain furtive vigilance in her eyes suggested that she 
was schooling herself to avoid those social pitfalls 
around her of which she alone knew the abundance. 

A little way away a youth of twenty odd years was • 
gazing round him with an air of complete boredom. 
The beauty of his raiment held decided priority over 
the attraction of his features. A white flannel suit of 
exquisite cut graced his frame, tie and handkerchief 
and socks were a symphony in russet and lilac. He 
wore no head-covering, and his hair was brushed back 
to a miracle of glossy smoothness. His eyes, as he 
looked listlessly about the “Jane Gladys,” had all the 
intelligence, but none of the animation of a cod’s, and 
the languid droop of his figure might have been mod¬ 
elled on an interrogation-mark done in the old Hew 
Art style. 

A fourth figure completed the group. Taking a sort 


THE OLD FIRM 


49 


of forlorn interest in her surroundings was a girl of 
face and form so engaging that, at sight of her, the 
aged but still impressionable Mr. Samuel Clark felt an 
added thrill of gratification in his good luck to he a 
member of the crew of the “Jane Gladys.” 

“Now, me lads,” said Captain Dutt fussily, “just pay 
attention to what you’re going to ’ear. This”—he in¬ 
dicated the elder gentleman—“is our new owner, Mr. 
Pidgett, and he’s wishful to say a few words to you.” 

“That’s right,” affirmed Mr. Pidgett. “So far I’ve 
left everything that concerns you to the captain here, 
but now I just want to speak a few words to you my¬ 
self.” 

“ ’Ere, ’ere, sir,” sycophantically inserted Mr. Clark. 

“John Blunt, I am,” stated Mr. Pidgett; “plain 
speaking, and plain dealing—that’s me ! 39 

“And very good hearing too, sir,” hazarded Horace. 

“I just want to tell you, first of all,” said Mr. Pid¬ 
gett, “that I hope you’ll like your jobs, and that we 
shan’t none of us fall out. If we do-” 

He tucked his cigar between his lips, emitted a little 
series of vigorous puffs, and once more removed his 
cigar. 

“John Blunt, I am,” repeated Mr. Pidgett. “If 
there’s anything I don’t like, I say so. Speak my mind 
straight out. That’s me! If I’m not pleased with 
anything or anybody-” 

Again he left his sentence unfinished, and had re¬ 
course to his cigar. This time he looked a little point¬ 
edly at the young man in flannels, who merely shrugged 
a shoulder in languid unconcern. 

“A plain man,” said Mr. Pidgett, resuming the tale 
of his qualities, “plain and ’olesome, like one of mother’s 
suet puddens.” 




50 


THE OLD FIRM 


Mr. Dobb, perceiving that here was intentional hu¬ 
mour, sniggered ingratiatingly. Mr. Clark, similarly 
prompted, chuckled amusedly and smacked his knee, and 
said, audibly but very respectfully, that that was “a 
good ’un.” The superior young gentleman in flannels, 
however, turned to regard Mr. Pidgett with a pained ex¬ 
pression. 

“I say!” he expostulated. “Really, pater 1” 

“A plain man, me: no frills and furbelows,” went 
on Mr. Pidgett, a trifle hurriedly. “No make-believe 
and fancy names for me! Look at this ’ere—look at 
this here boat. The ‘Jane Gladys’ she was called when 
I bought her, and the ‘Jane Gladys’ she’s called now. 
Though,” he added, glancing at the flannelled youth 
with hint of spite, “if some folks had had their way, 
she’d have been labelled with a fine, fat-headed fancy 
name. The—the what was it?—‘Percy-funny!’ But 
that ain’t my way. No fancy names for me. No flum¬ 
mery. The ‘Jane Gladys’ she was, and the ‘Jane 
Gladys’ she is.” 

The four sailormen very successfully mounted a look 
of solemn admiration for such stalwart Spartan prin¬ 
ciples. 

“Same way,” continued the new owner, “my name’s 
a plain one, and I keep to it. No double-barrelling of 
it for me, and no hyphening and what-notting of it, 
either, whatever silly changes some folks would like 
me to make. James Pidgett—that’s me! Pidgett! 
Every one knows the name! Pidgett, and I’m proud 
of it. You’ve all heard the name Pidgett before, 
haven’t you?” 

The crew of the “ Jane Gladys” gave a somewhat coy 
and slow acquiescence. 

“Of course you have!” asserted their employer. 


THE OLD FIRM 


51 


u ‘Pidgett’s Pickles!’ That’s me. Amongst other 
things, of course. Tidgett’s Pickles’ and-” 

“Look here, I say, pater,” interrupted the fine youth 
restively, “do you know, I wonder you don’t have an 
advertisement of the bally pickles painted on every 
one of the bally sails!” 

“And not a had idea, neither,” said Mr. Pidgett, 
glancing up at the furled canvas. “I’ll turn that idea 
over in my mind; blessed if I don’t. Glad,” he added 
sarcastically, “very glad, indeed, you’re beginning to 
take an interest in the business at last, my hoy.” 

“I always said,” sharply remarked the elder lady 
speaking for the first time, “has ’e’d—as ’e’d—I 
mean-” 

She stopped and pursed her lips very tightly. 

“That’s all right, ma,” said Mr. Pidgett tolerantly; 
“it’s only natural as you’d stick up for Stan, hut,” he 
went on with symptom of rising temper, “you know 
as well as I do, if ever there was a—a-” 

He, in turn, checked himself, and gazed at the youth 
in a balked way. That elegant individual, assuming 
an injured mien, lighted a cigarette. 

“That’s my son, Mister Stanley,” said Mr. Pidgett, 
speaking with great restraint, and addressing the en¬ 
grossed crew before him. “When I ain’t ’ere—when 
I ain’t here, he’s boss. Understand? But only when 
I ain’t here! See? And this is my wife, Mrs. Pid¬ 
gett,” he concluded shortly, “and this is my niece, Miss 
Barton. All right—that’s all I’ve got to say.” 

He made a gesture of dismissal, but Horace, always 
controlled by a penchant for ceremonial, stepped for¬ 
ward with some idea of offering a verbal address of 
welcome to these august new-comers aboard the “Jane 
Gladys.” The unencouraging stare with which his first 





52 


THE OLD FIRM 


words were received by Mr. Pidgett, however, caused 
him hastily to abandon his intention. His voice tailed 
away into silence, though he still sought to convey the 
sentiment of his greeting by a sunny smile. 

“And who the devil may you be ?” irately demanded 
Mr. Pidgett. 

“Me, sir? Pm ’Orace, sir,” replied Mr. Dobb, a 
little reproachfully, as though he were disappointed to 
find that Mr. Pidgett was ignorant of his identity. 

“And what do you do aboard here—besides grin?” 

“Me, sir? Pm the cook,” explained Horace. 
“Mostly.” 

“Oh, the cook, eh? Ah, well, I dare say Mrs. Pid¬ 
gett will have more to say to you than I shall! That’ll 
do! You can all go now!” 

The four seamen thereupon retired again to the 
forecastle and reverted to the easy attitudes from which 
Mr. Pidgett’s arrival had called them. Scarce a min¬ 
ute later they looked up from their couches at a light 
footfall, and discovered that Captain Dutt was apolo¬ 
getically intruding on their privacy. 

“Well, what do you think of ’em, lads ?” he asked. 

“I know what we think of you” coldly replied 
Horace. 

“Shouting and yelling like a slave-driver at us,” said 
Mr. Tridge. “Seems to me you’ve got us ’ere under 
false pretences, cap’n. There never used to be none of 
that bullying and nigger-driving on the Mane Gladys’ 
in the old days, and I must say I never expected it 
would start now.” 

“There’s no ’iding it, sir,” remarked Horace, “we’re 
disappointed in you. If ever you told me that the man 
we’d ’elped out of so many little awkward posi¬ 
tions-” 



THE OLD FIRM 


53 


“Remember that time we got Mrs. Dutt to go back 
’ome ’alfway through a trip she was taking with us?” 
asked Mr. Tridge. 

“And remember ’ow we found the way out for you 
that time you went and signed the pledge so silly, sir V 1 
demanded Mr. Clark. 

“And do you remember how we diddled that police¬ 
man at Bristol when he came down on purpose to see 
you?” severely inquired Mr. Lock. “I shouldn’t have 
thought you’d have forgot that so soon, at any rate, sir.” 

“Boys, I ain’t forgot nothing,” said the skipper. 
“And that’s why I’ve come down to see you now. It’s 
a bit awkward, you see. Mr. Pidgett expects me to run 
this old boat like clock-work, and I can’t do that unless 
you all ’elp me. How what I proposes is this: don’t 
you take no offence at me shouting at you a bit. Let 
him think I’ve got you all well in hand. Let him even 
think I’m a bit too tight in my discipline. Anyway, 
don’t take no notice of what I may shout to you, but 
just do as you’re told. 

“Huh!” observed Mr. Dobb sardonically. 

“Do as you’re told,” repeated the skipper. “But do 
It your own way, and at your own rate. Mr. Pidgett 
Won’t know no better, anyway. And in return I’ll make 
it up to you private in any way I can. See ?” 

“Ah, now you’re talking!” approved Mr. Dobb. “I 
see! We’re not to let ’im suspect the footing we’re on 
with you ? Well, so long as you keeps to your share of 
the bargain we don’t mind obliging you.” 

“That’s right, sir,” agreed Mr. Clark. “You shout 
and bully as much as ever you like, but we shan’t take 
any more real notice of you than we did in the old days 
when you was in one of your tantrums. That’s right, 
ain’t it ?” 


54 


THE OLD FIRM 


“That’s the idea/’ returned the skipper, looking much 
relieved at the happy issue of these negotiations. 

He turned and quitted the forecastle and, reaching 
the top of the companion, spoke in the severest tones. 

“And don’t let me ’ave to complain again about it!” 
he said, and strutted away. 

“So far, so good,” said Mr. Dobb to his shipmates. 
“Oh, I don’t despair of the prospects of ‘ ’Orace & Co.’ 
by no means. A nice snug job to start-off with, a 
owner with lots of money, a owner’s wife not too push¬ 
ful, a owner’s son what’s one of them haw-haw toffs, 
and a kind of secret treaty with our skipper! I don’t 
see what more we wants for a good beginning.” 

Late that night the “Jane Gladys” left Shorehaven 
Harbour, and began a cruise which was destined to be 
its first and last under the proprietorship of Mr. James 
Pidgett. 


CHAPTER V 


E ARLY next morning, Mr. Samuel Clark was at the 
wheel of the “Jane Gladys,” in impassive control 
of her course as she swept easily down Channel. TJp 
in the hows, Mr. Joseph Tridge was languidly and in¬ 
termittently doing something to a length of rope, stand¬ 
ing frequently erect, with in-arched hack, to indulge in 
an unstinted yawn. 

The sunshine flashed and sparkled on the blue sea, 
hut the air was keen. Mr. Clark, sorrowfully reflecting 
that at least two hours must elapse before the gratify¬ 
ing aroma of frying bacon could begin to escape from 
Horace’s galley, pulled his knitted cap a little closer 
down on his head, and summoned meditation to allevi¬ 
ate the tedium of duty. 

Of many things did Mr. Clark think as he stood there 
at the wheel, but mostly his mind travelled along a 
personal groove, for never had his career been lacking 
in incident, albeit of the unheroic sort. He had just 
recalled a chapter of his autobiography, concerning a 
talented parrot he had desired to sell to an unenterpris¬ 
ing Plymouth Brother, and was still smiling at the 
memory of the latter’s precipitate retreat, when he 
looked up to see Miss Barton approaching him. 

“ ’Morning, miss!” cheerily greeted Mr. Clark. “Up 
a hit early, ain’t you ?” 

“I suppose I am,” she agreed. “Only I woke up, 
and I couldn’t get to sleep again, and it was such a 

lovely morning, so I thought I’d get up. Besides-” 

55 



56 


THE OLD FIRM 


She stopped, and it seemed to Mr. Clark that she was 
a trifle anxious and embarrassed. 

“You’re the—the gentleman who went ashore last 
night to fetch the rest of our things from the hotel, 
aren’t you *” she inquired. “You know, just before we 
Sailed.” 

“Yes, miss, I was the—the gentleman,” verified Mr. 
Clark. “Yon ain’t going to tell me that I went and 
forgot anything are yon ? Most carefnl, I was, what 
with a fnll written list, and five knots in my ’andker- 
ehief, and everything.” # „ 

“Oh, no, yon remembered everything beantifnlly, 

she said. “Bnt-” 

She broke ofi again, and gazed towards the remote 
white mist which veiled the shore. Mr. Clark, permit¬ 
ting himself a pnzzled peep at her profile, noted that 
her cheeks were tinted with a most becoming flush. 

“I suppose yon—yon didn’t see anything of a—of a 

_ a Mr. John Smith ?” she asked, with effort at a casual 

note. 

“A Mr. John Smith?” echoed Mr. Clark. “Well, 
there’s three or four John Smiths I know of. More 
if you include alleybyes. Yon know,” he explained, 
“not their real names.” 

She glanced at him quickly, almost in alarm, bnt it 
was evident that Mr. Clark’s words had not been pointed 
to a particular allusion. 

“John Smith is a name what comes very ’andy to 
the mind,” he continued, “when there’s been larks, and 
police-courts, and so on.” 

“Oh, but my Mr. John Smith wouldn’t be at all likely 
to get into trouble with the police. But I did rather 
expect to hear something of him, and that’s why I got 
up early on purpose to try and see if I could find you.” J 


THE OLD FIRM 


57 


“John Smith, eh?” perpended Mr. Clark, doffing his 
cap for the more convenient titillation of his scalp with 
the tip of his forefinger. “Let me see now. There’s 
John Smith, the lamplighter, and young John Smith, 
his son,” he catalogued. “And then there’s ‘Dog-ear’ 
Smith, the shrimper; and ‘Stumpy’ Smith, the milk¬ 
man, though same calls ’im ‘Pumpy’ Smith; and there’s 
‘Snatcher’ Smith. They’re all John Smiths, really, 
dotted about the town like. Which one was you refer¬ 
ring to special, miss ? Though I must say I never saw 
none of them last night.” 

“The one I mean doesn’t live in Shorehaven. Only I 
was expecting—I mean, he was expecting to arrive last 
night, and-” 

“Do you mean ’e was coming aboard ’ere, miss ?” 

“Well he—he didn’t know. He didn’t quite know 
what he was going to do. But he knew we were leaving 
Shorehaven in the ‘Jane Gladys’ last night, and he 
said-•” 

“Ho one told me to look out for ’im, miss,” con¬ 
tended Mr. Clark. “ ’E wasn’t on my written list, nor 
yet ’e wasn’t a knot in my ’andkerchief, neither. Mr. 
Pidgett never mentioned ’im to me, nor Mrs. Pidgett, 
nor the skipper.” 

“Oh, no, they wouldn’t! They didn’t know anything 
about him. At least-•” 

“Well, I never see ’im, miss. What I mean is, I 
might ’ave seen ’im, but not knowing ’is name or what 
’e looked like-” 

“Hush!” said the girl urgently. “Here’s uncle!” 

Mr. James Pidgett, leathery of complexion and con¬ 
spicuously mulatto under the eyes, had appeared on the 
deck. Mr. Clark stole another glance at Miss Barton 
and read appeal in her gaze. 






58 


THE OLD FIRM 


“Oh, it’s like that, is it, missie? he asked quietly. 

She nodded. Something in her shy, almost fright¬ 
ened, confusion stirred Mr. Clark to strange depths. 

“I won’t give you away, missie , ;99 he whispered. 
“You can trust me all right. Any time old Sam Clark 

can- Yes, miss,” he went on in much louder tones, 

for the benefit of the imminent Mr. Pidgett, “that’s the 
idea. I turns this ’ere wheel, and that moves the rud¬ 
der, like what I’ve been explaining to you, and then- 

Oh, good morning, sir!” 

“ ’Morning,” returned Mr. Pidgett, rather surlily. 

“’Ad a good night, sir?” solicitously inquired Mr. 
Clark. 

“Never slept a blessed wink!” asserted Mr. Pidgett. 
“Not a blessed wink! And if you knew the price paid 
for those blessed beds alone! Sherryton design!” he ex¬ 
claimed with the utmost disparagement. “Why, I don’t 
believe they’re a bit better to sleep on than any other 
kind.” 

“Is aunt awake?” asked Miss Barton. 

“Sleeping like a top!” replied Mr. Pidgett, as one 
with a grievance. “A humming-top!” 

“I didn’t sleep very well, myself,” mentioned Miss 
Barton. 

“Why was that?” sharply demanded Mr. Pidgett. 
“Moping ?” 

“Oh, no, uncle! It was the strange surroundings, I 
suppose.” 

“Any way, I didn’t bring you for this holiday to 
spend all your time moping and fretting,” Mr. Pidgett 
crisply told her. “You know that well enough, don’t 
you, Nora ? No sighing and whining and being miser¬ 
able, if you please!” 

“No, no, of course not, uncle!” she agreed. “Oh, 



THE OLD FIRM 


59 


I shall enjoy it, I expect. Pm—I’m sure I shall. Only, 

of course, at first-” Her lips became tremulous. 

“It’s rather chilly up here, isn’t it ?” she said. “X—I 
think I’ll go back to my cabin again. Good morning, 
Mr.—Mr. Clark. See you at breakfast, uncle.” 

“Some gals,” vehemently observed Mr. Pidgett, 
watching her retreating form, “don’t know when they’re 
well off!” 

He thrust his hands into his pockets, and stood star¬ 
ing along the deck long after his niece had passed from 
view. A rankling dissatisfaction clouded his brow. 
Twice did he draw a deep breath which promised that 
he was about to unburden something of his private 
thoughts to Mr. Clark. On both occasions he changed 
his mind, and in the end, he took to a moody pacing 
about the deck. 

Presently he went to stand beside Mr. Tridge, who 
thereby became moved to extraordinary energy. Mr. 
Pidgett, however, appeared to perceive nothing of Mr., 
Tridge’s commendable zeal, and before long he swung 
round on his heel and resumed his patrol. But, at last, 
an irresistible craving to voice his grievance to an audi¬ 
ence certain to extend sympathy drove him back to Mr. 
Clark’s side at the wheel. 

“Some girls don’t know when they’re well off,” 
stated Mr. Pidgett again. 

“Ho, sir,” acquiesced Mr. Clark. “I mean, yes, sir 
—that’s to say, yes, you’re right, sir—and, no, they 
don’t, sir.” 

‘ “There was a time,” fretfully remarked Mr. Pidgett, 
“when that niece of mine was only too glad to get a job 
as ladies’ companion. Of course,” he hastened to point 
out, “it’s different for her now. My being what I’ve 
made myself, there’s no need for her to do anything. 



60 


THE OLD FIRM 


But, as I say, I can remember tbe day when she was 
glad to take a job. And now she ain’t even pleased at 
the idea of taking a husband I” 

“Well, well!” marvelled Mr. Clark. “Fancy that, 
now.” 

“She ain’t!” declared Mr. Pidgett. “Not a little 
bit! Quite the other way, in fact.” 

Mr. Clark, with a vague sense that he was living at 
the back of the paragraphs he sometimes came across 
in stray society journals, again murmured his polite 
amazement. 

“There’s plenty of gals would jump at ’alf a—at 
half a chance of marrying my boy Stan,” said Mr. Pid¬ 
gett resentfully. “And you’d think that Stan, being 

her cousin and all- Mind you, I admit that Stan 

isn’t exactly all I’d like him to be, not yet,” confessed 
Mr. Pidgett. “I never had a rich father, and ’e ’as— 
or, rather, I should say,” he amended, with a slight 
cough, “he has. I dare say that’s the real difference 
between young Stan and me. Mind you, I won’t say 
I haven’t been fool enough to pay for him to pick up 
a lot of silly ideas, but they want knocking out of him 
now.” 

Mr. Clark tactfully refrained from comment. 

“Matter of fact,” said Mr. Pidgett, “that’s why I’ve 
fixed up this trip. It ought to harden him a bit.” 

“It is a rough life, the sea, sir,” ventured Mr. 
Clark. 

“There’s no need for it to be rough for him/’ was 
Mr. Pidgett’s sharp response. “I should think I’ve 
spent enough money in making the ship comfortable 
for everybody. Not begrudged anything, I haven’t. 
But, well, you know, knocking about from place to 
place ought to do him a bit of good. Broaden his mind, 



THE OLD FIRM 


61 


brace him up. He’ll find out, pYaps, that clothes ain’t 

everything, and—and- Well, it’s bound to do him 

more good than loafing about shore.” 

“And I s’pose he’s very set on the young lady, sir ?” 

“He is! Of course he is! Mind you, I’m bound to 
admit he doesn’t show it very much. That’s not his 
way. But he’s very fond of her, all the same. Never 
gets a new motor-bicycle, but what he brings it round to 
show her, first of all. If he fancies she don’t like his 
tie, he’s off, first chance he gets, to change it, and try 
another. But—well, there it is! She don’t seem to 
take to him as a sweetheart somehow.” 

“Well, I wonder at ’er being so—so partic’lar as all 
that. I do, indeed, sir!” 

“So do I, man, so do I!” irascibly returned Mr. Pid- 
gett. “You’d think that, out of ordinary gratitude, 
she’d do what me and her aunt wishes. She’s my wid¬ 
owed sister’s only daughter, and for the last three years 
I’ve made ’em an allowance which no one couldn’t call 
otherwise than ’andsome! Yes, as I say, h — h — hand- 
some I” 

“Ah, you’ve got a kind ’eart, sir!” said Mr. Clark. 

“Kind heart? Fiddlesticks! Due to my position, 
wasn’t it ? Do you think I wanted folks going about, 
pointing to the windows of their poky little lodgings, 
and saying, ‘Fancy, that’s the place where Pidgett, of 
“Pidgett’s Pickles” and lots of other things, allows his 
sister to go on living ?’ Yes, and even then the gal was 
disposed to be independent, and tried to refuse it!” 

“Young!” remarked Mr. Clark, exclusively. “Soft! 
Romantical!” 

“She was only talked over in the end by her mother, 
and a rare job she had of it, too. And me with my 
motor standing outside their stuffy little rooms, while 



62 


THE OLD FIRM 


I was inside the house, trying to persuade her for all I 
was worth. You’d have thought she’d have given due 
consideration about my having to keep up my position 
in life, and not been so stubborn, wouldn’t you ?” 

“I only wish people would come round in motors 
offering me ’andsome allowances,” observed Mr. Clark. 
“I’d shove ’em down the front steps and slam the door 
in their faces, I don't think!” 

This pleasantry passed unheeded by Mr. Pidgett, 
who, clearly irritated by the memory of Miss Barton’s 
obstinacy, again began to strut the deck. And Mr. 
Clark, though his hands were on the spokes of the 
wheel, and his eyes were roving the sea ahead, was 
mentally dwelling in the very citadel of the aristocratic 
world, and feeling the equal at least of any periodical 
which published its quota of intimate fashionable gos¬ 
sip. 

“A hard job we had to persuade her to come this 
I trip at all,” confided Mr. Pidgett, returning with his 
! thirst for respectful sympathy still unslaked; “but the 
wife and myself insisted. We thought that Yora and 
young Stan, being the only two young folk aboard, 
might get on better together. He's willing enough, in 
his way, though he ain’t the rushing sort, but she - ■' 

“I can’t ’elp wondering, sir, why she should be like 
that,” said Mr. Clark innocently. 

“Can’t you ?” snapped Mr. Pidgett. “I can! Some¬ 
one else!” 

“Go on!” adjured Mr. Clark in artless incredulity. 
“What I mean to say, sir, you mean that she’s got her 
eyes on someone else? Well, well, ’oo’d ’ave thought 
it?” 

For a few minutes Mr. Pidgett regarded the stout 
helmsman a little distantly, as though he had come to 



THE OLD FIRM 


63 


sudden disapproval of himself for the extent of confi¬ 
dence he had given a mere lowly hireling. Then human 
nature reasserted itself over class-distinctions, and he 
spoke again. 

“I happen to know there’s someone else she’s hanker¬ 
ing after. Has been, these past three years. Oh, her 
mother’s told me things! Beggarly kind of a clerk, or 
accountant, or lawyer, he is. Why I doubt whether 
he’s got more than six or seven hundred a year to live 
on, from what I’ve heard. [Wish I could meet him. 
Just once! I’d soon tell him what I thought of a chap 
who kept running after a gal and spoiling her chances 
of marrying a fortune.” 

“You ain’t met him yet, then, sir?” 

“Ho, not yet. I know his name—Clifford something- 
or-other. What is it? Clifford—yes, Clifford Way- 
field, that’s it. Some sort of a Cockney, ’e is! But 
I’ve never been able to find out exactly where he lives. 
My sister don’t know, and Hora won’t tell me. He’s 
only been to their house once. My sister don’t encour¬ 
age him, naturally. She wants her gal to marry my 
Stan, of course. They meet each other outdoors—you 
know, picture palaces, restyrongs, theatres—that sort of 
thing. Bit low for a gal in her position, I think.” 

“And I suppose Vs smart and good-looking ? Good- 
looking in a different way to Mister Stanley, I mean, 
o’ course,” Mr. Clark was quick to make clear. 

“Didn’t I tell you I’ve never met him? Just an 
ordinary looking young fellow, I suppose he is. Ah, 
and I’ll take care Hora don’t meet him again in a 
hurry, either! That’s another reason why I brought 
her for this trip. She won’t be able to see the other 
fellow at all, and she’ll be seeing my son Stan all the 
time.” 


64 


THE OLD FIRM 


“That ought to ’elp, one way or another, sir,” con¬ 
ceded Mr. Clark. “A fine couple they’ll make, any¬ 
way.” 

“They will. She’s just the wife for him. Me and 
my missis are both agreed on that. She’ll smarten him 
up, put a bit of ginger into his ways! Of course, he 
might marry goodness knows who, if he chose—a duke’s 
daughter, very likely, with the money he'll have. 
Though,” Mr. Pidgett’s candour compelled him to con¬ 
tinue, “I dare say he’d be just as likely to pick on a gal 
in a beauty chorus, all ankles and grin and hat. And 
that’s another reason why I want to see him settled 
down and married to Flora as soon as possible. She’s 
the girl I’ve set my heart on him marrying, and marry 
him she shall! And that’s all there is to it. And— 
and didn’t you ought to be calling out ‘Starboard 
watch!’ or something, now and then?” he ended, de¬ 
termined that the time had come to depose Mr. Clark 
from the high post of confidant and reduce him to his 
normal inferiority. 

“I was just going to, sir,” said Mr. Clark, regret¬ 
fully realizing that he could hope for no further dis¬ 
closures. 

“You mustn’t think just because I’ve been telling 
you a few things that you can presume on ’em and 
forget your duties,” Mr. Pidgett instructed him. 

With this monition, the new owner turned away and 
strode towards his quarters. His pace soon slackened, 
however, and, coming to a full stop, he stroked his chin 
dubiously for a few seconds. Then he came back once 
more to Mr. Clark. 

“Mind you, all what I’ve told you is in strict con¬ 
fidence,” he observed. “What young Stan would say 
if he knew I’d got a-chattering on private affairs with 


THE OLD FIRM 


65 


-P’r’aps I didn’t ought really to have said so much, 

only one gets talking and- I mean to say, my man, 

you mustn’t think I’ve forgot my position because of 
all I’ve been telling you. I—I felt like talking to 
someone about things, that’s all. Of course, I’d rather 
have talked to the captain, if he’d been about. 
Still-” 

“You won’t catch me breathing a single word to a 
living soul, sir!” promised Mr. Clark impressively. 

Mr. Pidgett nodded and returned towards his state¬ 
room. 

“Starboard watch!” bawled Mr. Clark the instant 
that Mr. Pidgett became invisible. “Hi, starboard 
watch!” 

Mr. Tridge, up in the bows, lifted his head in acute 
surprise at Mr. Clark’s strange outcry. 

“Starboard watch!” again shouted the helmsman, and 
then, finding that he had won Mr. Tridge’s attention, 
he beckoned imperatively to that mariner. 

Mr. Tridge came to him at a run. 

“Joe, cut down into the fo’c’sle at once and rouse up 
’Orace,” urgently directed Mr. Clark. “Get ’im to 
come up to me at once. I’ve got, oh, such a lot to tell 
’im! And I wants to get it all off my mind before I 
forgets a single little bit of it!” 





CHAPTER VI 


A T a more mature hour of the same morning Mr. 

Horace Dobb stood in a Napoleonesque attitude 
within the seclusion of his galley. 

On the table before him stood a big enamelled bowl 
containing potatoes destined for the midday meal; but 
though Mr. Dobb stared fixedly at them, and had been 
staring fixedly at them these last ten minues, their 
exigence had not as yet made more than the faintest of 
appeals to the outer zone of his consciousness. 

For the busy brain of Mr. Dobb was employed in 
close consideration of matters far more intriguing to an 
ingenious mind than ever mere vegetables could aspire 
to be. Already he had mentally filed and indexed every 
detail of the tidings so torrentially imparted to him 
by Mr. Clark a few hours earlier. Already he had 
again and again reviewed the situation as illumined by 
the light of these new facts in his possession. 

And now Mr. Dobb was endeavouring to find a loop 
whereto an intelligent sea-cook might take hold to haul 
the position forward to some point where personal bene¬ 
fit could reward such energy. 

But though Mr. Dobb frowned never so terrifically at 
the potatoes, solution of the task he had set himself 
obstinately eluded discovery. He felt, indeed, like a 
blindfolded man wandering in a strange, unlighted 
apartment at midnight in effort to locate the exit which 
he knows must exit somewhere. A dozen times, meta¬ 
phorically, did Mr. Dobb imagine that his fingers were 


THE OLD FIRM 


67 


fumbling with the handle of the door; a dozen times 
did he realize that hope had out-leaped fact. 

So that, presently, it was with a kind of indignant 
relief that he became aware of his name being insis¬ 
tently shouted by Captain Dutt; for the summons gave 
him opportunity to postpone further examination of his 
problem, and thus to stave off the evil moment when 
he must admit to his companions that his vaunted talent 
for artifice had at last been baffled. 

Going aft, he found himself pounced upon by the 
skipper, who led him into the presence of Mr. and 
Mrs. Pidgett. The owner’s wfife, sitting erect in a deck¬ 
chair, was knitting with all the grim intensity which 
that recreation brings to its keenest devotees. Mr. Pid¬ 
gett, in a similar style of seat, at a more reposeful 
angle, was gazing about at his property with an expres¬ 
sion which was both vigilant and satisfied. 

“Young man,” said Mrs. Pidgett, looking up sharply 
at Horace, “do you know how to make a rice pudding ?” 

“I ought to, mum,” modestly contended Mr. Dobb. 
“I’ve made ’undreds in my time—thousands!” 

“Oh!” said the lady, with a hint of disappointment. 
“Then you won’t want me to show you. Well, you take 
and see that we always have a rice pudding every day. 
My husband’s very partial to rice pudding.” 

“Ho, I ain’t!” denied Mr. Pidgett. 

“Well, then, you ought to be!” she declared severely. 

“Well, I ain’t!” insisted Mr. Pidgett. “Give me voly - 
vongs, and peaches Melba, and soufflays. They’re the 
things I really like, when I know I can trust ’em! Rice 
puddens!” he exclaimed disdainfully. “Chicken-feed 
I calls ’em!” 

“But you know how good they are for you,” she said. 
“You know what that swell doctor said about your in- 


68 


THE OLD FIRM 


digestion? A Sir he was, too,” she explained to 
Horace. “You remember what he said, don’t you, pa ?” 

“He said quite a lot,” replied Mr. Pidgett. “So he 
ought to, too! I had to pay him five guineas for the 
visit, didn’t I? Specialist,” he in turn explained to 
Mr. Dobb. “A man in my position can’t afford to go 
to any other kind.” 

“Pa—Mr. Pidgett—suffers cruel from indigestion,” 
stated Mrs. Pidgett, giving herself a little jerk forward, 
as though a topic which she found of never-failing in¬ 
terest had now been fairly broached. 

“Hot indigestion—dyspepsia,” corrected her hus¬ 
band, rather proudly. 

“It used to be indigestion,” she returned. “When 
you used to go to that doctor round the comer it was 
indigestion. Real bad Mr. Pidgett is when he gets the 
slightest touch of it,” she informed Mr. Dobb. “And 
talk about temper!” 

“Steady on, ma,” requested Mr. Pidgett, resenting 
such revelations to an underling. 

“But you know it is so, pa. And then you goes— 
you go all dull and quiet and heavy, and an earthquake 
couldn’t get you to take interest in anything.” 

“That’s so,” admitted Mr. Pidgett. “I feel as if I 
couldn’t take an interest in anything for the life of 
me. My legs feel lead, and my chest feels as if I’d 
swallowed a football.” 

“Yes,” said Mrs. Pidgett, taking up the tale with 
relish, “and the doctor—the Sir one—gave you a whole 
list of things to do about your food: things you must 
have, and things you mustn’t have, and things you can 
have only sometimes. And he told you you were al¬ 
ways safe with rice puddings—now, didn’t he? And 
you’ve found that’s the truth, haven’t you ? ‘Ho shell- 


THE OLD FIRM 


69 


fish/ he said, ‘particularly lobsters.’ !N"o fresh bread, 
no-” 

“Don’t talk about ’em, ma,” begged Mr. Pidgett. “I 
can never think of a nice, fresh, crusty loaf and a lob¬ 
ster without wanting to rush out and have a good 
tuck-in at ’em!” 

“And nicely you’d suffer for it, too! There’s nothing 
pays you out so bad and quick as lobsters and fresh 
bread, and that you know well enough! But you won’t 
find any aboard here, that’s one blessing! When we’ve 
finished what we’ve brought with us in the way of food 
I shall do all the ordering myself when we goes ashore, 
and I’ll take care that there’s no lobsters or anything of 
that sort included in my orders. But rice pudding you 
shall have in plenty, that I promise you.” 

“Blow rice puddings!” impatiently decried Mr. 
Pidgett. 

“So, my man,” said the lady, addressing Mr. Dobb, 
“you’ll see as there’s always a rice pudding, hot or cold, 
about the place, in case Mr. Pidgett comes over hungry, 
unexpected. Don’t let me ever have to remind you. I 
give in to pa over everything else, but his health is the 
one thing I’m firm on. And if the doctor said rice 
puddings-” 

“All the same,” complained Mr. Pidgett, “you would 
think that a chap as you paid five guineas to would 
think of something better than rice puddings, wouldn’t 
you ?” 

“You’re quite sure you know how to make ’em, young 
roan?” demanded the lady. 

“Quite sure, mum.” 

“It—it wouldn’t be no trouble for me to show you, 
just once,” she offered. 

“Very kind of you, mum, but there’s no need.” 




70 


THE OLD FIRM 


“Oh, very well! I must say it seems a long, long 
time since I last made a rice pudding myself,” ob¬ 
served Mrs. Pidgett quite wistfully. “Sometimes, I— 
I ? m almost afraid I shall have forgotten the way.” 

“There you go again,” grunted Mr. Pidgett. 

“Come to think of it, mum,” put forward Mr. Dobb a 
“some folks has their own particular, family receipts 
for rice puddings. PVaps it would he better if you 
was to show me just once the exact way you like ’em 
made.” 

A queer little light of gratitude gleamed in Mrs. 
Pidgett’s eyes, and she rose with alacrity to follow Mr. 
Dobb to the galley. 

The consequent lesson in the art of contriving a rice 
pudding in the form most exactly suited to Mr. Pid- 
gett’s requirements was neither long nor complicated, 
but more than once the preceptress had to make quite 
sure that her pupil fully comprehended the process 
under study. For at times Mr. Dobb seemed slow of 
comprehension, and even a little distrait. Fortunately, 
Mrs. Pidgett took these symptoms to indicate that Mr. 
Dobb was feeling rather overwhelmed by his responsi¬ 
bilities as rice pudding provider to the digestion of so 
important a person as her husband. But, indeed, Mr. 
Dobb was preoccupied in adding other valuable data to 
the file stored in his memory, entering therein in im¬ 
perishable letters record of the full effects producible on 
Mr. Pidgett by unkind diet, and making special note of 
lobster and fresh bread in this connexion. These de¬ 
tails, Mr. Dobb felt sure, must one day prove of value to 
a strategic mind. 

Mrs. Pidgett, coming to the end of her exposition of 
rice pudding manufacture, glanced round the galley, 
inspected a frying-pan with hint of disfavour, and then, 


THE OLD FIRM 


71 


absently, began to scour it at the sink. Horace’s appeal 
to be allowed to complete that service awoke her with a 
start to the menial nature of her task, and, flushing 
guiltily, she quitted the galley. 

Ten minutes later Mr. Clark, much refreshed by a 
spell below, came to the cook’s sanctum for a little chat. 
Furnished by Horace with the bowl of potatoes as a 
valid reason for his presence, Mr. Clark willingly set¬ 
tled himself to the occupation of peeling. 

“ ’Ow’s the old ’eadpiece working, ’Orace ?” he asked, 
by way of a conversational opening. 

“The old ’eadpiece is all right,” said Mr. Dobb. 

“Got something all planned already, I dare say, eh ?” 
suggested Mr. Clark. “A wonder, that’s what you are, 
’Orace. I knew soon as ever I told you what I knew 
that you’d see something sticking out clear for us, like 
a light’ouse. I’d ’ave been disappointed if you ’adn’t, 
with your brains,” he admitted frankly. “I’ve never 
known you lose a moment yet, ’Orace, and if anybody 
was to tell me that you’re flummoxed for what to do for 
the best, after what I’ve told you, I shouldn’t believe 
’em. The first time you’re beat, ’Orace, it’s the begin¬ 
ning of the end. Once your kind loses its grip they’re 
done with for good and all. But, of course, I knew 
youd rise to the occasion!” 

“Of course,” said Mr. Dobb slowly. 

“Well, what’s the idea ?” asked Mr. Clark. 

“It’s early days yet,” returned Mr. Dobb. 

“Early days for doing it may be. But, surely, if 
you’ve got the idea, there ain’t any ’arm in just giving 

me a ’int what it’s to be.” 

“Well-” began Horace, and stopped. 

“Yes V* 

“Well-” 




72 


THE OLD FIRM 


“I don't believe you 'ave got a idea," asserted Mr. 
Clark severely. “You've 'ad all these hours to think it 
over and you ain't thought of nothing. Why, it's my 
belief as you're beat!" 

“I ain't! I've got an idea, right enough.” 

“Tell us, then,” challenged Mr. Clark. “Go on, tell 
us.” 

“The time ain’t ripe—the moment ain't favourable, 
returned Horace, with vague memories of speeches 
whereby politicians had extricated themselves from 
similar situations. “There’s—there’s fresh develop¬ 

ments coming.” 

“You're trying to get out of it! Tell us what the 
fresh developments is then.” 

“You'll see 'em for yourself,” said Mr. Dobb. 

There ensued a little silence, while Mr. Clark care¬ 
fully finished the peeling of a potato, and then turned to 
scrutinize Mr. Dobb sceptically for several seconds. 

“I'll tell you why you don't tell me,” said Mr. Clark 
at last. “It's because you can't.” 

“I've said all I'm going to say,” returned Mr. Dobb, 
rather constrainedly. He whistled a few joyless staves. 
“Let's talk about something else,” he suggested, too 
spiritedly. “What sort of a time did you 'ave ashore 
last night when you went to fetch them things from the 
hotel, old chum ?” 

“Fair to medium,” answered Mr. Clark. “They was 
all shutting.” 

“Didn't see Mister Stanley come aboard, did you ?” 
asked Horace, rather desperately filling in the hinder 
stages of another pause. 

“I was the last aboard of the lot of 'em,” said Mr. 
Clark. “What was the matter with 'im ?” 


THE OLD FIRM 


73 


“Oh, a scream! A proper old scream!” Mr. Dobb 
assured bis shipmate. “You know the theatre ’ere? 
Well, Mister Stanley ’ad gone there in his full war 
paint. Evening dress, a pot ’at, white gloves, cane, 
flower in his button’ole—oh, quite the little dook! I 
don’t know what them fisher chaps up in the gallery 
must ’ave shouted to him, but I’ll bet they found ’im 
more interesting than the play! Anyway, he came back 
pretty early, and ’e’d got ’is collar turned up, and ’is 
coat pulled over to hide ’is shirt front.” 

“Wish I’d seen ’im,” said Mr. Clark, losing some of 
his mistrust of Horace. 

“Oh, well worth seeing!” declared Horace. “Same 
as the stewardess the boss has brought aboard. You 
ain’t seen her yet, either, have you ?” 

“Ho. What’s she like?” 

“Well, one chap in a ’undred thousand' 'fnight write 
home about ’er,” replied the cook. “But I’ll bet not 
one in a million would ever telegraph! However,” he 
added philosophically, “she’s here to look after the 
ladies, and not to interfere with me, so I ain’t troubling. 
You didn’t see anything of your Mrs. Brockway, did 
you ?” 

“Took jolly good care not to!” 

He was about to say something further, but checked 
himself, bending his head a little closer over his task. 
Mr. Dobb, glancing at him, saw the corners of his lips 
were upturned in a smile. 

“What’s the joke ?” demanded Horace. 

“Well, I’ll tell you what I did do,” said Mr. Clark, 
looking up with a chuckle. “Strictly as a secret be¬ 
tween us two, mind. Well, you remember them conver¬ 
sation lozenges she give me the first two or three times 


74 


THE OLD FIRM 


she come on my ferry ? You know,” he prompted, red¬ 
dening at the recollection, “ ‘ Naughty boy!' ‘I love 
you !’—them kind of things.” 

“Yes, you ate ’em to put an end to ’em. I saw you.” 

“It didn’t quite put an end to ’em,” related Mr. 
Clark. “Matter of fact, she kept up that game for 
several days longer. Used to pick ’em out with saucy, 
loving messages on ’em and ’and ’em to me, deliberit. 
Well, I found out where she used to buy the blessed 
things, a ounce at a time. There was a big bottle full 
of ’em, and I stepped in and bought up the lot. That 
stopped ’er little game!” 

“And what did you do with all them lollipops ? Eat 
’em ?” 

“Most of ’em. But I kept a few back on purpose to 
’ave a little lark with ’er when I left Shore’aven. She 
’ad no idea I was sailing on the Mane Gladys,’ you 
know. I’ll admit I played up to ’er a bit while I was 
still at the ferry, because I didn’t want to lose ’er cus¬ 
tom, for one thing, and because I didn’t want ’er cutting 
up nasty with me, for another. Sometimes I said things 
to ’er without properly meaning what I was saying, and 
she might ’ave got false ideas in ’er ’ead. So I thought 
I’d rather keep on the right side of ’er till I ’ad a chance 
to get clear away.” 

“And where do the lollipops come in ?” 

“I’m coming to them. I picked out about a dozen, 
special ones. There was ‘Alas, my pore ’eart!’ and 
‘Your bright smile ’aunts me still’ and ‘You’re too 
shy !’—a lot like them. And I done ’em up in a packet 
and addressed ’em to ’er, and last thing afore I come 
aboard last night I posted ’em to ’er!” 

“Sort of love-letter ?” suggested Mr. Dobb, perplexed. 

“Yot a bit of it! Sarcastical! Can’t you see when 


THE OLD FIRM 


75 


she finds out I’ve slipped ofi unbeknown to ’er ’ow sar- 
castical them sweets will be? Give ’er a pretty good 
idea of what I really think of ’er, won’t it ? It’ll be a 
lesson to ’er not to be so forward with strange gentlemen 
another time. Oh, she’ll see it’s meant sarcastical, right 
enough. A woman always looks for sarcasticism before 
she looks for anything else.” 

“She might take it like that,” said Mr. Dobb dubi¬ 
ously. “On the other ’and-” 

“Of course she’ll take it like that!” asseverated Mr. 
Clark, startled. “ ’Ow else could she take it ? It never 
struck me as she could take it any other way.” 

“Well, ‘Alas, my pore 9 eart!’ for instance,” remarked 
Mr. Dobb, and spread his palms in an inquiring gesture. 
“She could take that two ways, couldn’t she ?” 

“ ’S’trewth, ’Orace, you’re right!” agreed Mr. Clark. 
“I wasn’t thinking of anything but being sarcastical, 
and I clean overlooked everything else. Oh, well,” he 
added, with some satisfaction, “we shan’t be going back 
to Shore’aven for a long, long while, and much may 
’appen before we get there. I ain’t going to bother, 
anyway. ‘Out of sight, out of mind,’ that’s my mot- 
ter!” 

None the less he was silent as he completed his task, 
and then, setting the bowl of peeled potatoes on the 
table, he opened the door of the galley and stepped out. 

Immediately he leaped back again and seized the 
cook’s arm in a trembling grasp. 

“Look—look!” he gasped, drawing Horace to the 
window. 

“Now what’s the matter ?” asked Mr. Dobb, peering 
forth. “Can’t the owner hold wool for his wife to wind 
without you goggling and staring at ’em like a—like a 
sea-serpent ?” 



76 


THE OLD FIRM 


“But the—the other one,” quavered Mr. Clark; “the 
one coming up be’ind to ’em, with a white apron on.” 

“That ?” said Horace. “That’s the stewardess I was 
telling you about just now.” 

“It’s Mrs . Brockway!” groaned Mr. Clark, and col¬ 
lapsed, limp and stricken, into a chair. 

He sat staring there straight before him, his eyes big 
and round with the woefulness of his plight. Equally 
surprised was Mr. Dobb at the coincidence, though the 
total absence of consternation, in his case, made his 
emotions far less poignant than Mr. Clark’s. 

But very soon Mr. Dobb banished every trace of 
amazement from his face. A lofty triumph alone held 
place on his countenance as he went to stand before his 
shipmate. 

“ ‘There’s fresh developments coming/ I says,” he 
reminded Mr. Clark. “ ‘You’ll see ’em for yourself,’ I 
says. Now are you satisfied?” 


CHAPTER VII 


A WEEK had elapsed, and the amenities of life on 
hoard the “Jane Gladys” very faithfully reflected 
the wisdom of that proverb which conveys warning of 
deep currents flowing beneath unruffled surfaces. 

Of the exalted, Mr. James Pidgett pursued his 
leisure undisturbingly enough, seldom imposing his per¬ 
sonality upon his employees, save for the briefest of 
reasons. Beyond the carrying of a chair or the fetching 
of a rug he caused but little trouble, and, indeed, had all 
the outward aspect of one taking holiday at its restfull- 
est. 

But often, whether reading, idling, or strolling his 
deck, a furtive discontent would slowly harden on his 
face, and before long he would be sure to send a side¬ 
long glance towards his niece or his son. In the former 
event, he would seem to be trying to fathom what might 
be passing now in her thoughts; in the latter contin¬ 
gency, his expression was not so much one of specula¬ 
tion as of smouldering perplexity. 

Eor his part, Mr. Stanley Pidgett showed that he was 
aware of his sire’s scrutiny by exhibiting a sort of lofty 
resignation which implied that he had abandoned all 
hope that one of his refined temperament would ever 
be understood and appreciated by a being of coarser 
fibre. 

Sometimes absorbed members of the crew overheard 
snatches of talk through the skylights of the saloon, and 
these made it plain that Mr. Pidgett, senior, was im- 
77 


78 


THE OLD FIRM 


patiently urging Mr. Pidgett, junior, to adopt the tenets 
of an evangel based on the life strenuous. Angry ad¬ 
monitions to wake up, to get a grip on things, to get on 
or get out, to do it now, to push or be pushed, with other 
stimulating slogans, would dart from the elder man’s 
lips, only to be greeted with a languid, complaining 
drawl by the younger. 

As for Miss Barton, she retained her rather forlorn 
attitude, and her deportment towards her cousin re¬ 
mained at the same unenthusiastic level. And now 
and then, when encountering Mr. Samnel Clark, she 
would look a little lingeringly at that stout mariner, as 
if she found some melancholy solace in the passing pres¬ 
ence of one who shared, at any rate not unsympathet¬ 
ically, a secret with her. 

And Mrs. Pidgett continued a grim zeal with her 
knitting needles and wool, though often she would dis¬ 
cover some cause to take her to the galley, and, if 
Horace were absent, he would find on his return evi¬ 
dence of her visit in the form of a few knives cleaned, 
or a tidied shelf, or a rearranged cupboard. 

Similarly, the subordinates aboard the “Jane 
Gladys” passed their hours in outward tranquillity, 
without ever a hint of the hopes and ambitions which 
stirred their souls when they foregathered in private 
conclave. 

Mr. Clark and Mrs. Brockway, the stewardess, had 
met, and were now quite used to meeting. To Mr. 
Clark’s chagrin, the lady had confessed to him that she 
had been perfectly well aware that he was taking up 
employment on the “Jane Gladys.” 

She herself, she explained, had been enjoying a holi¬ 
day conveniently at Shorehaven before entering on her 
duties, and one day she had had to see Mr. Pidgett on 


THE OLD FIRM 


79 


one of his flying visits to the town. Some question of 
State insurance had arisen at that interview, and Mr. 
Pidgett had entered her name in his pocketbook, at the 
tail of a list of the personnel of the ship’s crew. The 
list was written in a fine, bold hand, and, peeping over 
her employer’s shoulder, Mrs. Brockway had at once 
discerned that it included the name of Mr. Samuel 
Clark. The discovery, she averred, was a shock and a 
great worry to her, until she realized that this was 
merely another manifestation of that shyness of Mr. 
Clark’s at which she had so frequently hinted to him. 
This being the case, she had resolved to keep her own 
future movements unknown to him, in order to provide 
him with a pleasant and encouraging surprise. 

These things being elucidated, Mr. Clark gave a 
flustered corroboration to her theory concerning his un¬ 
announced departure from Shorehaven, and thereafter 
he and the lady returned to a footing which was a thing 
of unspoken significances and ambiguous interpreta¬ 
tions rather than of direct, unequivocal words. And 
his wonted wide cheerfulness returned to Mr. Clark, not 
even diminishing greatly when he remembered that 
somewhere in the post was a re-directed missive, con¬ 
taining sweets stamped with affectionate phrases, which 
must eventually reach Mrs. Brockway, For Mr. Clark 
was dwelling now in the shadow of Mr. Horace Dobb, 
and was confident that his shipmate’s genius could ward 
off any untoward developments. 

Mr. Joseph Tridge and Mr. Peter Lock went about 
their labours briskly and efficaciously, but with ever a 
watchful eye. Captain Peter Dutt roared and bellowed 
his orders to his full content, and never once failed to 
offer subsequent apology for so doing 

Finally, as pendant to all the foregoing one may 


80 


THE OLD FIRM 


take the figure of Mr. Horace Dobb, sitting in deep 
thought in his galley, night after night, with a 
moistened cloth bound about his temples, and eventually 
rising, with an impatient sigh, to repair to his bunk and 
there resume his still fruitless cogitations. . . . 

And now the “Jane Gladys, 1 ” after beating this way 
and that about the Channel at her owner’s whim, was 
lying in harbour at Stridport. A sudden, irresistible 
desire of Mr. Pidgett’s was responsible for his inaction. 
A yearning “to skip up to London,” as he expressed it, 
“and catch them all on the hop at the works,” had mas¬ 
tered him to such an extent that Captain Dutt had been 
ordered to change course at a moment’s notice to put 
into the nearest harbour. Accordingly, Stridport had 
been reached during the afternoon, in excellent time for 
Mr. Pidgett to catch an express train for the metropolis. 
He promised to be back again within twenty-four hours, 
and enjoined the skipper to hold everything in perfect 
readiness to set out to sea again immediately on his 
return. 

An hour after Mr. James Pidgett had departed, Mr. 
Stanley Pidgett, gloriously arrayed, came from his 
cabin and announced his intention of having a run 
round the town. Instructing his mother that there was 
no need to sit up and wait for him, he, too, went his 
way. 

Five minutes later Miss Barton strolled off the boat 
and was heard inquiring the way to the post-office. She 
came back very late for tea, and after that meal set 
forth with her aunt to make selection from such organ¬ 
ized entertainment as the town might offer. 

The crew, accorded liberty by their captain, lost no 
time in making a systematic search of the streets of 


THE OLD FIRM 


81 


Stridport, for they had visited the place before and 
believed they had some recollection of a house which 
had an automatic tap of so agreeable unreliability that, 
quite frequently, it went on dripping steadily into your 
glass long after it had measured and delivered the exact 
amount you had ordered. 

Mr. Clark was of opinion that this admirable example 
of man’s ingenuity was to be found at the “Saracen’s 
Head,” but Mr. Tridge inclined to the belief that they 
would find it at the “Golden Anchor.” Mr. Lock was 
almost certain that the “Woolpack” would prove their 
correct goal, and Mr. Horace Dobb had to admit that he 
could not make up his mind whether it was the “Grey 
Mare” or the “Red Lion” that they really wanted. 

In these circumstances, the obvious course was to seek 
each of the hostelries in turn, and this they did, though 
in none of them did they discover their quest. Good 
company and satisfactory cheer, however, they certainly 
found at each inn, and this softened the irksomeness of 
continued failure; but louder and louder, as the evening 
wore on, did they declare their fixed intention to press 
the hunt to a triumphant issue. 

To that end they decided to make methodic inspec¬ 
tion of each of the town’s taverns in turn, and this pro¬ 
gramme in due time brought them to the “Man-o’-War,” 
situated on the quayside, not a hundred yards from the 
“Jane Gladys.” By now bootless search had reduced 
them to weariness, and, perceiving that the “Man-o’- 
War,” too, employed unadvanced methods of measuring 
fluid, they came to querulous bickerings amongst them¬ 
selves. But presently Mr. Tridge expressed a revised 
belief to the effect that the establishment they really 
sought was the “Peal o’ Bells,” and Mr. Lock said that 
he rather thought so too, now; and Mr. Dobb, after 


82 


THE OLD FIRM 


cocking his chin and repeating the name of the inn three 
or four times interrogatively, announced that he was 
jolly well certain that Mr. Tridge was right, and that it 
was the “Peal o’ Bells.” 

Animation awoke again, and they were all rising to 
seek out the “Peal o’ Bells” without further delay when 
Mr. Clark hesitatingly mentioned his impression that 
the “Peal o’ Bells” was situated, not in Stridport, hut 
in Chadmouth, and to support that contention, re¬ 
minded his hearers of a joyous conflict they had once 
had with the crew of the “Haven” at that very tavern 
in that very town. 

And then Mr. Dobb’s memory suddenly recaptured a 
long-forgotten incident, and brought it sharply into 
focus, and presented it to him. He reconstructed the 
incident for the benefit of his shipmates, taking them 
back to a distant night when the landlord of Chad- 
mouth’s “Peal o’ Bells” had discovered for himself the 
idiosyncrasies of the automatic tap he had installed that 
day for the first time. Graphically he described the 
landlord’s action of wresting the tap from its setting, 
convincingly he reproduced the landlord’s embittered 
words as he hurled the tap afar through the open win¬ 
dow. He recalled to Mr. Clark and Mr. Lock exactly 
where they had stood, mimicked the sad shake of the 
head with which Mr. Tridge had greeted the landlord’s 
premature discovery, and repeated his own regretful 
comments at this abrupt termination to their hopes. 

And so they were all brought to establish the truth 
of the reason why their search in Stridport had failed. 
This cleared the air, for it absolved them from the 
necessity of pursuing their quest farther, and, with the 
air of men whose responsibility has happily ended, they 


THE OLD FIRM 


83 


turned briskly to the pleasures of the “Man-o’-War’s” 
tap-room. 

Mr. Dobb and Mr. Tridge entered on a challenge 
match at the dart-board with two local marksmen, and 
Mr. Lock furnished song and story for the entertain¬ 
ment of the company. But a roseate languor had de¬ 
scended upon Mr. Samuel Clark, so that sitting still in 
his chair and beaming impartially on everyone around 
him was fullest satisfaction for him. After awhile, 
though, it began to dawn on Mr. Clark that there was 
one gaze which met his own with something deeper and 
more arrestive in it than any of the others. 

Time and time again Mr. Clark brought back his 
regard to the quiet, shabbily-dressed man in the corner, 
until at last he had looked at him so frequently that he 
felt he could now fairly claim acquaintance, wherefore 
he nodded to the other man and invitingly patted the 
empty chair beside him. With marked alacrity the 
individual rose and seated himself beside Mr. Clark. 

And now that they were neighbours, the stout 
mariner cast about in his head for some friendly remark 
to advance, though, indeed, the stranger was already 
bending upon Mr. Clark a smile which must surpass in 
amiability anything which Mr. Clark could say, 

“Off of Mane Gladys,’ aren’t you ?” said the stranger. 

Mr. Clark, bending his head, ran his forefinger over 
letters embroidered on his jersey, and nodded confirma¬ 
tion. 

f “A fine boat,” declared the stranger. “I see her when 
she come in. A fine boat!” 

“B’longs to a millionaire,” pridefully returned Mr. 
Clark. 

“Nicely fitted up inside, I’ll be bound.” 


84 THE OLD FIRM 

“Cream dee la cream,” asserted Mr. Clark. “Re- 
kerky—not ’alf!” 

“Owner’s aboard, of course ?” said the other, care¬ 
lessly. 

“Gone to London on business. You know how it is 
with them millionaires. ’Ere to-day and gone to¬ 
morrow. ’E won’t be back for a day or so. Business— 
London,” he concluded with a sage jerking of his head 
at his new friend. “ ’E told me.” 

“Ah, you’re well in his confidence, that I can see,” 
said the other, and Mr. Clark smirked modestly. 

“She ain’t gone, not the missis,” said the stout 
mariner, as further proof of his intimate knowledge of 
his employer’s affairs. “Gone ashore to a theayter, or 
concert, or something.” 

“And a fine sight she looked, too, I’ll lay,” suggested 
the other man, jovially, “with all ’er jewels and knick- 
knacks blazing all over. I know what millionaires’ 
wives are!” 

“As it ’appens, she ain’t at all that sort,” returned 
Mr. Clark stiffly, for it struck him that the remark was 
lacking in due respect for one whose husband had the 
privilege of retaining Mr. Clark’s services. “She’s got 
jewels and what-nots—any amount of ’em—but she 
don’t care about wearing of ’em in public. That’s os— 

os ty—osit-” Wisely he abandoned the attempt. 

“That’s showing-off,” he ended. 

“I see,” said the other carelessly. 

“No offence took where none is meant,” Mr. Clark 
assured him. He pondered his words after he had 
uttered them, and they seemed to him a little ungenial 
for such a snug atmosphere as the tap-room exuded. 
“That’s all right, old chum,” he therefore added. “We 
understands each other. We ain’t going to quarrel.” 



THE OLD FIRM 


85 


“Of course we ain’t!” very cordially agreed his new 
acquaintance. “You and me are going to get on all 
right. Give us your ’and.” 

To this Mr. Clark assented with great good-will, and 
while still they were shaking hands the other man spoke 
again. 

“I suppose you couldn’t manage for me to have a 
look round your boat ?” he asked. 

“Whaffor ?” demanded Mr. Clark, with instant sus¬ 
picion, and sharply withdrew his hand. 

“Oh—curiosity!” 

“Can’t he did,” said Mr. Clark, and sat hack shaking 
his head for a full ten seconds. 

“Righto!” accepted the other, and yawned, and then 
gave tepid interest to the prowess of the dart-throwers. 

The yawn proved infectious, affecting Mr. Clark to 
the extent of three prodigious gapes, after which he 
came to a little space of sleepy blinkings. Gradually 
his chin began to droop on his chest, but the final down¬ 
ward movement of his head was a jerk, and this re¬ 
awakened him. Glancing round drowsily, he perceived 
the stranger still in the chair at his side. 

“Wasn’t you saying something about you’d like to go 
aboard the old boat ?” asked Mr. Clark. 

“I was,” replied the other man, with covert eager¬ 
ness. 

“Can’t be did,” said Mr. Clark again, disappoint¬ 
ingly. 

He closed his eyes again, and fell to wondering how 
he had ever come to be talking at all to this shabby 
stranger. He remembered that the man had seemed to 
be taking a peculiar interest in him, that he had re¬ 
sponded very quickly to a casual offer of acquaintance¬ 
ship. Also, he had expressed curiosity as to the where- 


86 


THE OLD FIRM 


abouts of Mr. Pidgett, and, further, had asked to he 
taken aboard the “Jane Gladys.” As he reflected these 
things, a tiny idea shot forward from the hinder spaces 
of his mind, and began to turn and spin, enlarging and 
increasing in vividness, like a revolving firework, till 
there was no room in Mr. Clark’s thoughts for anything 
else. He leaned forward and tapped the stranger’s 
knee with an air of certainty. 

“Name of Smith,” he asserted. 

“Yours?” 

“No, yours.” 

“Oh!” said the stranger. 

“Smith. That’s it, now, ain’t it?” 

“P’r’aps it is, and p’r’aps it ain’t,” conceded the 
other, warily. 

“John Smith?’ 

“Might be.” 

“A alleybi,” observed Mr. Clark authoritatively. 

“Maybe,” agreed Mr. Smith very watchfully. 

“Thought I’d ’it on the right track,” said Mr. Clark 
complacently. “Come to me all in a flash, it did. 
That’s all right. You needn’t be frightened of me* 
Why, I’ve been as good as asked to keep a special look 
out for you.” 

“Who by ?” asked Mr. Smith quickly. “What for ?” 

“Why, by *et” responded Mr. Clark. 

“And who’s ’er?” 

“You needn’t keep it up in front of me,” smiled the 
stout mariner. “You know ’oo I mean well enough— 
Miss Barton, of course!” 

“Ah I” murmured the other indefinitely. 

“She give me the office that she ’alf expected to see 
you when we sailed from Shore’aven last week. I 
rather guessed that you’d be dodging about somewhere 


THE OLD FIRM 


87 


before long to try and get a word with 'er. No wonder 
you'd like to 'ave a look over the boat/' Mr. Clark 
chuckled archly. “Disguise, of course?" he suggested, 
indicating Mr. Smith's raiment. “Jolly good idea! 
You don't 'alf look a low-down character! No one 
would ever think that you 'ad seven or eight 'undred a 
year of your own! Oh, you needn't look so startled at 
me knowing that! There ain't many things Mr. Pid- 
gett keeps back from me, I can tell you." 

Mr. Clark glanced towards Horace, clearly minded to 
acquaint him of this meeting, but both Mr. Dobb and 
Mr. Tridge were absorbed in a dispute with their op¬ 
ponents about the rules of dart-throwing. Mr. Clark 
then turned his attention to Mr. Lock, but that debonair 
sailorman was helping the landlady to wash tumblers. 
For a few moments Mr. Clark hesitated, being disin¬ 
clined to assume sole responsibility, until the thought 
occurred to him that any pecuniary reward the grateful 
Mr. Smith might offer would have to be shared among 
those who had earned it. 

“You come along with me," he invited Mr. Smith. 
“I'll take you aboard. It won't be long before she and 
'er aunt are back, and then I'll drop 'er a 'int 'ow she 
can get a few words alone with you." 

“Good enough!" said Mr. Smith tersely, and followed 
Mr. Clark out of the inn. 

Leaving his friend in the shadows on the quay, Mr. 
Clark scouted forward, returning presently with the in¬ 
telligence that the ladies had evidently not yet returned. 

“Ain't there somewhere aboard where I can wait?" 
asked Mr. Smith. “It's a bit chilly 'ere." 

“The saloon's locked up and so is all the cabins," 
Mr. Clark informed him. 

“I got some keys," volunteered Mr. Smith. 


88 


THE OLD FIRM 


“The old geezer might see you,” demurred Mr. 
Clark. “But there’s the fo’c’sle. You could make 
yourself comfortable down there till she comes along 
the young lady, I mean.” 

With this suggestion Mr. Smith gratefully agreed, 
and two minutes later he was accorded the temporary 
freedom of the forecastle. 

“I’ll ’ang about up on deck,” promised Mr. Clark. 
“The moment she comes aboard I’ll get word with er 
some’ow. You’ll be all right down ’ere. I dare say 
you’ll be ’aving company presently. It’ll be closing 
time in about ten minutes. But I’m the only one as is 
’elping you, don’t forget!” 

“Late as that, is it S” exclaimed Mr. Smith in feigned 
surprise. “Well, look ’ere, there’s no reason why you 
shouldn’t cut across and have just one last one, before 
they shut. Here you are.” 

He handed Mr. Clark a coin. Ruefully Mr. Clark 
noted the smallness of it. As earnest of favours to 
come, it was not encouraging. It rather confirmed an 
opinion gaining ground in Mr. Clark’s mind that Mr. 
Smith was not at all the sort of young man he would 
ever have imagined so charming a person as Miss 
Barton look on with favour. He did not blame Miss 
Barton, but he was very cross with Love for being 
blind. 

However, he accepted the coin, with a polite mur¬ 
mur, and repairing to the “Man-o’-War” he there in¬ 
gurgitated with practised rapidity, and left the inn 
with his companions. Outside, there was a halt, for 
Mr. Dobb and Mr. Tridge desired to wait for their late 
opponents and resume the discussion under less tram¬ 
melled conditions, while Mr. Lock was instructed to 


THE OLD FIRM 


89 


stand by in the quality of a reserve force for use in 
emergency. 

Mr. Clark therefore returned alone towards the 
“Jane Gladys,” and, by chance, found Mrs. Pidgett and 
her niece on the very gangway. Officiously Mr. Clark 
hastened forward to help them aboard. A few secret 
words to the young lady, as he assisted her, caused her 
to lag behind, and her aunt unlocked the saloon and 
tendered it alone. 

“ ’E’s turned up, miss!” excitedly whispered Mr. 
Clark. “Your friend, Mr. John Smith!” 

“Arrived already!” she asked in surprise. 

“ ’E’s down in the fo’c’sle now, miss. All disguised 
up, ’e is, but I knew ’im, bless you! Hinstinct! It’s 
a gift with me. I met ’im in the ‘Man-o’-War,’ and 
brought ’im across ’ere. ’E’s in the fo’c’sle now, wait¬ 
ing to get a word with you.” 

“Oh, but you couldn't have met him!” 

“Oh, but I did , miss!” 

“But you couldn't have!” she insisted. “I know, 
because I—I telephoned to—to Mr. Smith from the 
post office here this afternoon. He was in London, and 
he found there was no train by which he could possibly 
arrive here till half-past eleven to-night.” 

“Well, all I know is-” began Mr. Clark slowly. 

He broke off, and there was a little wait. Then, 
turning, the stout mariner clattered away and made a 
cyclonic descent into the forecastle. 

The forecastle was empty. 


CHAPTER VIII 


FTER the first douche of perplexity had spent 



itself, Mr. Clark, with great presence of mind, 
remarked, “Har, har, I see you!” and chuckled to show 
that he appreciated a jest. This stratagem attaining 
no success, his laugh abruptly perished, and he began 
an examination of the deeper shadows of the forecastle, 
with no more palpable result than a slight headache 
brought on by the stooping posture necessary to probe 
beneath Mr. Tridge’s bunk. 

“Well,” said Mr. Clark, baffled, “that’s a rum ’un. 
That’s all I can say. It’s a rum ’un.” 

But even so succinct a summary somehow failed to 
satisfy him, and still he groped for some clue to the 
disappearance of his new friend. 

“Come aboard appupus to see ’er, admitted that ’is 
name was John Smith, and then goes and runs away,” 
he fretfully murmured. “And ’er so positive it ain’t 
’im, too, when I see ’im with my own eyes! Just as if 
’e couldn’t ’ave caught a earlier train, after all! But 
what beats me is why, after taking all that trouble to 
disguise and come down ’ere, ’e should go and run away 
again without seeing ’er! Silly, I calls it. The only 

thing I can think is that ’e must be very shy or-” 

Mr. Clark’s jaw incontinently dropped open as a 
new and disturbing thought came to him. Hurriedly 
he made a search among his personal belongings, with 
a dismal sinking feeling that his beloved sea-boots, by 
their absence, would furnish the key to Mr. Smith’s 


90 



THE OLD FIRM 


91 


strange departure. But his hoots were quite safe, and 
a swift tally of the remainder of his personal property 
revealed no deficiencies. Nor, so far as ho could dis¬ 
cern, had the belongings of his shipmates been ravaged, 
and the only damage to them to be reported was in¬ 
flicted by Mr. Clark himself in upsetting an unsus¬ 
pected bottle of hair oil over some neckties adjacent to 
it in Mr. Horace Dobb’s locker. 

So at last Mr. Clark philosophically came to the con¬ 
clusion that the evanishment of Mr. John Smith was 
but one more mystery of the sea. He therefore re¬ 
turned to the deck to acquaint Miss Barton of his error 
in stating that her friend was waiting below for oppor¬ 
tunity to see her. That young lady, however, had now 
retired. 

Mr. Clark, feeling a certain drowsiness stealing over 
him, thankfully accepted this respite from explanation 
and retired below again to his own rest. 

A little later Captain Dutt said good-bye to some 
friends and, crooning softly, festooned up the gangway 
and along to his cabin. Three minutes after, Mrs. 
Brockway, clutching a concert programme as a sort of 
patent of respectability, came quietly aboard and went 
to her slumbers. After another five minutes Mr. 
Horace Dobb, Mr. Joseph Tridgo, and Mr. Peter Lock 
made a tired descent into the forecastle and disposed 
themselves for sleep. 

Peace and quiet enwrapped the “Jane Gladys.” The 
clock in Stridport’s ancient church tower chimed the 
hour of midnight. . . • 

Mr. Stanley Pidgett, returning towards the harbour, 
stood still to listen to the mellow notes and to count the 
twelve sonorous strokes that followed. It had been an 
evening of interesting experiences, if not of unalloyed 


92 


THE OLD FIRM 


pleasure, for Mr. Pidgett, junior. The Hotel Had cer¬ 
tainly failed to respond adequately to the trust He Had 
given it in ordering His dinner, but, on tHe other Hand, 
the waiter Had proved obsequious to the most flattering 
degree, and Mr. Stanley Pidgett still preferred to be¬ 
lieve that it was some nervous affliction, and not a grin, 
which Had marred the servitor’s features at that mo¬ 
ment when the departing guest unexpectedly turned 
round to nod a lofty good night. 

Again, the local music Hall Had signally failed to 
uphold that fun and refinement which its advertise¬ 
ments promised. But, to set against this, Mr. Stanley 
Had enjoyed the friendly overtures of some of the very 
brightest spirits of the town. Young auctioneers, bank 
clerks, and sons of flourishing tradesmen they were, and 
very jovial fellows, though perhaps a little inclined to 
be too free and easy, until Mr. Pidgett, junior, had 
thought it as well to inform them of his identity and 
status. After that they had behaved becomingly 
enough towards him. Indeed, it was with marked 
deference that a few of them invited him to patronize a 
little game of cards they purposed at an adjacent pri¬ 
vate dwelling-house, and their artless satisfaction when 
he signified his willingness had pleased him very much. 

The ensuing game was bright and free from the 
slightest suspicion of irregular play, but Mr. Pidgett, 
junior, proved consistently unlucky. When at last the 
pastime was relinquished at the request of an irate 
landlady, Mr. Stanley had lost a sum which could not 
but redound to his dignity, though he was careful to 
explain that he could have lost the amount twenty times 
over without being at all troubled thereby. 

And now he was walking home, a little relaxed after 
the exertions of the night, a little peevish because a 


THE OLD FIRM 


93 


kindly host, escorting him to the door, had asked him 
if he were quite sure the loss of his money would not 
discommode him. 

“Just as if a few paltry pounds-” muttered Mr. 

Stanley Pidgett, restively, and was half inclined to go 
back to argue the matter further with his host when 
the clock gained his attention. A little expression of 
surprise at the lateness of the hour left him at the 
dozenth stroke, and he hurried on towards the “J"ane 
Gladys.” 

He reached the dark quay and made out the dim 
form of his floating home. Cautiously he set foot on 
the gangway and began to make his way along it. He 
was already near the end when he stopped, and in¬ 
stantly he became aware of a creeping, prickling sensa¬ 
tion at the roots of his hair, for his hand, groping along 
the rail of the gangway, had closed upon a sleeved arm. 

Automatically he recoiled from the contact, and stood 
trying to pierce the blackness of the night. Indistinctly 
he apprehended a motionless head and shoulder against 
the lesser darkness of the sky. 

“What—what—what-” began Mr. Stanley Pid¬ 

gett, and ceased on finding that he had less authority 
over his lips than he believed. 

And next he found himself trying to strike a match, 
but his fingers were stiff and strained, and the match¬ 
box trembled curiously in his hand. At last a light 
sputtered up, and he caught a glimpse of a white, intent 
face, but in that same instant the matches were dashed 
from his grasp and a wiry forearm caught him full 
across the chest. 

As Mr. Pidgett, junior, staggered back, the in¬ 
truder sought to slip past him down the gangway. But 
the blow had so disturbed Mr. Stanley’s equilibrium 




94 


THE OLD FIRM 


that he already fancied himself hurtling over the rail 
into the chill water beneath, and he threw out his arms 
and clutched convulsively to save himself from this 
fate. His grasp encountered the intruder’s neck, and 
he embraced it tightly. 

“Leggo!” grunted a voice, and a fist began to ham¬ 
mer unavailingly on Mr. Pidgett’s head. 

“Help!” cried the assaulted one in a shrill falsetto 
voice. “H-h-help!” 

So, for a space, voice and sinew contended, and then 
came intervention. Thudding footsteps mounted the 
gangway, and next a pair of strong arms encircled the 
contestants and held them inactive. 

And now the “Jane Gladys” leaped into wakefulness. 
[Up from the forecastle came four hurrying sailormen in 
curious deshabille. A short, white-garbed figure, 
swinging a lantern, gave the world the information that 
Captain Peter Hutt was still loyal to an old-fashioned 
form of nightwear. The lantern’s rays shone on the 
group on the gangway, and Mr. Clark recognized the 
face of the individual he had sought to befriend that 
evening. Also he recognized the owner’s son, in spite 
of the unusual pallor of that youth’s complexion. But 
the third man, he who still held the other two in an 
unrelenting grip, was totally unfamiliar to Mr. Clark, 
or, indeed, to any of those present. 

“What’s all this about?” bawled the skipper, not 
without flavour of nervousness in his tones. “What’s 
it all about, eh?” 

“All a mistake,” said Mr. Clark’s friend hoarsely. 
“Got on the wrong boat. It’s all right. Apologize! 
Must go now.” 

“He—he struck me!” testified Mr. Stanley, and 


THE OLD FIRM 


95 


seemed to be tbe only one fully alive to tbe enormity of 
this offence. “He struck me!” 

“All a mistake/’ said the other again. “Couldn’t see. 
All dark. Lemme go. Must go now.” 

He tried to wriggle himself free of his captor’s hold, 
and a muffled metallic rattling at once became audible. 

“ ’Old ’im tight,” directed the skipper. “You take 
one arm, Joe, and you take the other, Sam, and bring 
’im right aboard. And what about you?” he asked, 
addressing the second stranger. “ ’Ow far are you con¬ 
cerned in this—this dastardly attack ?’ 2 

“Oh, he’s all right!” testified Mr. Stanley effusively. 
“He’s a sportsman! He’s one of the best! He—he 
rescued me!” 

“Ah, lucky ’e was about then!” commented the skip¬ 
per, with swift change of manner. 

“It was quite by chance,” remarked the new-comer. 
“I was just strolling round a bit and—and found my¬ 
self down by the harbour here, and—and then it hap¬ 
pened !” 

And now the entire party, closely surrounding Mr. 
Clark’s acquaintance, moved towards the saloon and 
made of it an informal court of justice. But, first of 
all, there was to be noted the fact that the door of the 
saloon was unlocked, and next the ladies aboard had to 
be assured that they had nothing to fear. 

.Willing hands searched the captive, and found on 
him silver forks and spoons and other articles of table 
use manufactured from the same metal. The pockets 
of the prisoner yielded loot, the lining of his coat con¬ 
fessed further spoil, and even the inner side of his boot- 
tops ceded their hoard. 

“Lock ’im in the galley, and don’t let ’im out of your 


96 


THE OLD FIRM 


sight for a moment, Joe,” ordered the skipper. “And 
you, Sam, keep watch outside the galley. And you, 
Peter, cut off for a policeman, sharp as you can.” 

Disposition thus made of the prisoner, the moment 
was ripe for thanks to he accorded to Mr. Stanley’s 
rescuer. 

“I’m dashed grateful to you,” asserted Mr. Pidgett, 
junior. “If there’s any little return I can make it’s 
yours! And I’m sure the pater will he most fearfully 
obliged to you! Oh, most fearfully!” 

“Well, I was wondering-” 

“Come now, no need to hang hack. The pater will he 
only too pleased, and of course, you know, he’s pretty 

well lined, you know—what ? I mean, expense-” 

Mr. Stanley dismissed further need to mention such a 
thing, flourishing his hand in rather a hored gesture. 

“Well, as a matter of fact, there’s one service you 
could do me, and I’d he greatly obliged. I happen to 

—well, Pd like a job aboard here, and that’s the 
truth.” 

To this there came no immediate reply, for Mr. 
Stanley was plainly dismayed to find that he had been 
talking so engagingly to one who was prepared to accept 
a menial position. In the circumstances, he was think¬ 
ing, it would have been far more gentlemanly for the 
other to have accepted his thanks and taken his leave 
straightway. It annoyed him that he should have been 
led astray by the voice of this stranger. He ought, 
instead, to have taken greater heed of the other man’s 
apparel, which, now that he came to look at it more 
closely, was distinctly nothing more than neat and 
serviceable. 

“But, of course,” said the stranger, realizing that 
the silence was unpromising, “you might not like to 



THE OLD FIRM 


97 


take too much responsibility. I quite understand that 
you may not he in a position to engage people offhand. 
Perhaps, if I call again, and see the—the head of 
affairs, you might be prepared to put in a good word 
for me.” 

“As it happens,” returned Mr. Stanley, loftily, “I 
am the head of affairs for the time being, don’t you 
know. The pater distinctly told you that I was boss 
when he was away, didn’t he, Captain Dutt V 9 

“That is so, sir.” 

“So you see I have got enough responsibility to take 
you on. And, as I’ve been saying, I’m very much 
obliged to you for coming along as you did, though I 
really think I should have settled the beggar myself in 
another half minute. Still, if you like to turn in with 
the crew for the rest of the night I’ll—ah—see you in 
the morning, and see what can be done for you.” 

“It’ll be very good of you.” 

Mr. Stanley was just turning away with a yawn, to 
show that the interview was closed, when there arose 
commotion in the neighbourhood of the galley. 

“Look out, Sam, ’old ’im!” bawled the voice of Mr. 
Tridge, and this was followed by a wail from Mr. Dobb, 
and the plaintive words, “Look out, Sam, you old fool, 
it’s me you’re ’itting!” 

This was followed by the rush of footsteps across the 
deck, and again there arose an incensed bellowing from 
Mr. Tridge. 

“Get out of the way, Sam! Don’t get falling all 
over the place and grabbing at folks, you damned old 
idj it, you!” 

“There ’e goes, down the gangway!” Mr. Dobb was 
heard next to shout. 

Racing feet clattered along the quayside. The 


98 


THE OLD FIRM 


fiercest of objurgations came from the darkness: vivid 
orders directed Mr. Samuel Clark to stand out of the 
way and not incommode the whole of the narrow gang¬ 
way with his vast bulk. 

The hurrying footsteps turned away from the wharf 
and became fainter and fainter. There were vague, 
questioning shufflings to and fro about the quay, and 
then Mr. Tridge and Mr. Dobb, quarrelling bitterly 
with Mr. Clark, came back to the ship. 

“ ’E’s got away, sir !” announced Mr. Tridge sav¬ 
agely. “Escaped! All old Sam Clark’s silly fault! 
’E come and knocked at the galley door and said some¬ 
thing what neither me nor ’Orace could ’ear, and ’e said 
’e wouldn’t say it louder in case the prisoner over-’eard. 
So we stepped out to ’im, and the prisoner slipped out 
and—and there was a lot of muddle and confusion, and 
’e got away—clean away!” 

“That’s a pity,” said the skipper. “There’s a lot I 
wanted to ’ear at the police-court. How ’e got aboard, 
for one thing, because he must ’ave been at ’is games 
some while before Mr. Stanley here collared ’im, and 
someone would ’ave been sure to notice him looking 
suspicious about the place earlier in the evening.” 

“Oh, well, ’e’s got away now, sir!” said Mr. Clark, 
not without satisfaction. “And I dare say it’ll be for 
the best after all. I’m sure the owner don’t want to 
’ang about ’ere a week or two on police-court business.” 

“Well, you may be right, Sam,” conceded the skip¬ 
per. “I never thought of that. Besides, we’ve got back 
everything he stole, so there’s no real ’arm done. After 
all, all’s well that ends well.” 

“ ’Ear, ’ear!” fervently interrupted Mr. Clark. 

“And,” continued the skipper, “it certainly give our 
young master here a chance of showing ’is pluck. 
Regular ’eroic, I calls it.” 


THE OLD FIRM 


99 


“Er—well, give the hands a drink all round, cap¬ 
tain, and then we’ll get off to bed,” directed Mr. 
Stanley. 

It was during the consequent ceremony of wishing 
the owner’s son the best of luck that Miss Barton put in 
an appearance. At her aunt’s behest she had dressed 
herself and come to ask the skipper whether that lady 
might now safely yield herself to slumber without fear 
of further disturbance. 

Captain Dutt gave her the fullest of reassurances 
to convey to Mrs. Pidgett, and these were fortified by 
yiew of the uniformed policeman who had by now ar¬ 
rived with Mr. Lock and seemed relieved, rather than 
Otherwise, that his services were not required. 

As she turned to go back to her aunt’s cabin, Miss 
Barton caught full sight of Mr. Stanley Pidgett’s res¬ 
cuer. She stopped sharply and had almost spoken. 

“This is the young chap what—what received the 
thief in custody from Mr. Stanley, miss,” explained 
the skipper. 

The stranger gazed at her with a certain restrained 
awkwardness. 

“Im very glad to see you,” said Miss Barton, and 
gave him her hand. 

This struck Mr. Stanley as a quite unnecessary dis¬ 
play of feeling. 

“I shall probably give him a job on board here,” he 
remarked pointedly. 

Miss Barton bowed and went on her way. 

“Oh, while I think of it,” said Mr. Stanley to the 
Stranger, “what’s your name?” 

“My name ? Oh, why—it’s—er—John Smith!” 

Mr. Samuel Clark, making a choking noise, set down 
his glass and was led away to be assiduously patted on 
the back by his shipmates. 



CHAPTER IX 


T HE crew of the “Jane Gladys,” after the dis¬ 
turbance of the night, woke pettishly from their 
slumbers. For some while they lay inert, grunting 
their disapproval of any scheme of existence which sub¬ 
ordinated the freedom of man to the mere mechanical 
promptings of a clock. This invariable portion of their 
daily ritual performed, they grumpily and reluctantly 
quitted their mattresses and began to garb themselves 
for duty. Their eyes were heavy lidded and their 
mentality was sluggish, so that it was not at once that 
they were reminded of the presence of a stranger in 
their midst, and, when presently they became aware of 
him, it was with an unreasonable sense of resentment 
because he looked so comfortable. He was lying on his 
back in the bunk assigned to him, with his palms be¬ 
neath his head. Smoke was curling up from the pipe 
gripped between his teeth, and he was smiling in a 
quiet, satisfied way. 

“You’re looking very pleased with yourself, Mister 
blessed John blessed Smith,” was Mr. Tridge’s churlish 
observation. 

“Ho particular reason to be otherwise,” cheerfully 
returned the new-comer. 

“ Wake up laughing, and go to bed crying,’ ” 
quoted Mr. Samuel Clark severely. “You live as long 
as I ’ave, if you can, and you’ll find out that’s true.” 

“Besides,” said Mr. Tridge, “it ain’t reasonable nor 
natural for a man to be merry and bright before break- 
100 


THE OLD FIRM 


101 


fast, and I don’t like to see it neither, young feller, so 
there!” 

“And what have you got to grin at, anyway ?” sourly 
questioned Mr. Lock. “You don’t really think you’re 
likely to get a job aboard here, do you P 

“I shall he sorry if I don’t.” 

“So I dare say,” dryly scoffed Mr. Lock. 

“Sorry for your sakes, I mean,” amplified Mr. 
Smith. 

“Oh, don’t waste your sorrow on us!” ironically 
begged Mr. Lock. u We shall get over it in time. We 
shan’t wear black crape for you for more than six 
months, I don’t suppose.” 

“Nor sackcloth and hashes,” said Mr. Clark, crink¬ 
ling his nose scornfully. 

Mr. Horace Dobb, ever the first of them to be sensi¬ 
tive to delicate significances, suddenly shed his morose- 
ness and came alertly to Mr. Smith’s bedside. 

“You mustn’t take any notice of them teasing you a 
bit, old chum,” he remarked. “Bless you, they don’t 
mean no ’arm! A joke and a bit of innocent teasing— 
that’s us, all over. I don’t mind telling you, confident 
j tial, as we’ve all took to you, right from the first—took 
to you wonderful.” 

I “Of course we ’ave,” declared Mr. Clark, plunging 
in at once to follow his acknowledged leader in such 
matters. “’Oo could ’elp it?” he asked. “A nice, 
bright, ’appy-’earted, plucky young chap like you.” 

I He stooped and patted the knee of Mr. Smith, leering 
amicably at him. This done, he glanced at Mr. Dobb, 
as though for further guidance, but the cook was light¬ 
ing a cigarette in a casual manner. 

“By the way,” said Mr. Dobb carelessly, “what was 
you saying just now”—he paused to emit smoke in a 


102 


THE OLD FIRM 


nonchalant manner—“about getting a job aboard ’ere? 
You know, something about being sorry, for our sakes, 
if you didn’t get took on.” 

“Well, I’d he sorry for you,” replied Mr. Smith 
calmly and clearly, “because there’d be five pounds 
for each of you four if I did get taken on aboard 
here.” 

The effect of the announcement was electrical. Mr. 
Dobb, grasping at one of the new-comer’s hands, shook 
it energetically and assured him that he could already 
look on the affair as being as good as settled. Mr. Lock, 
doffing ill-humour from his face as if it were a mask, 
craned over Mr. Dobb’s shoulder to express smiling sat¬ 
isfaction with the munificence of this offer. Mr. J oseph 
Tridge essayed to give some indication of his gratified 
feelings by snatching Mr. Dobb’s sou’-wester off a nail 
and gleefully kicking it into a corner. The ancient 
and obese Mr. Samuel Clark, with his flair for inter¬ 
preting his emotions pantomimically, first turned his 
empty pockets inside out, and next blissfully shook 
hands with himself, and finally executed a few cum¬ 
brous steps in simulation of a Highland dance. 

“You leave it to us, chum!” warmly recommended 
Mr. Tridge. “We’ll see you fixed all right.” 

“Good!” exclaimed Mr. Smith. “The money will be 
ready and waiting the moment the thing is settled.” 

“And that won’t be ’alf a second longer than we can 
’elp,” Mr. Dobb assured him. “Me and my mates will 
step up into the galley and talk it over soon as ever 
we’re dressed.” 

“Why not talk it over now?” suggested Mr. Smith. 
“Naturally I’m interested, and I’d like to hear-” 

“Me and my mates are a—a bit shy about speaking 
in public,” replied the master-mind of the forecastle. 


THE OLD FIRM 


103 


“We always gets on much better when we talks things 
over quiet, on our own, between just the four of us.” 

“Oh, right you are!” acquiesced Mr. Smith. “Just 
as you like. I can see you’re going to do your best for 
me, so I shan’t worry. There’s just one thing,” he 
mentioned, a little awkwardly. “I can’t give any ref¬ 
erences to a previous employer.” 

“Well, references ’ave never been the least ’elp to 
me/’ commented Mr. Tridge encouragingly. “That I 
do know.” 

“Of course,” said the new-comer, “I know a little 
about the sea. I used to handle a small boat of my own 
once. That,” he explained very quickly, “was before 
I—I lost my money, of course.” 

“Of course,” accepted Mr. Dobb, with a covert wink 
at his shipmates. 

“ ’Ere, but ’old ’ard,” demurred Mr. Clark in alarm. 
“If ’e’s lost all ’is money, ’ow’s ’e going to be able to 
’and us out the five quid ’e’s promised us ?” 

“Oh, that’ll come out of some I had left!” said Mr. 
Smith. 

“Besides, where’s your manners, Sam—where’s your 
manners?” reproved Mr. Dobb, bending a terrible 
frown on the stout seaman. “I am surprised at you! 
Fancy questioning anybody about their private affairs 
like that! ’E’s said ’e’s going to give us five pounds 
apiece, and I’m sure his word is as good as his bond, 
and that’s good enough for me. And now let’s get on 
up to my galley, and we can talk things over while you 
chaps help me to start my work for the day.” 

Accordingly, adjournment was made to Horace’s do¬ 
main, and here the cook, after he had thoughtfully pro¬ 
vided work for everybody, arrogated to himself the 
office of chairman of the meeting. 


104 


THE [OLD FIRM 


“Well, now, let’s get to business,” be invited, settling 
himself comfortably on a corner of the table. “Ain’t 
everything shaping together nice? Ain’t it all bound 
to lead to something very extry special before we’ve 
finished V 9 

“1 ain’t selling any of my shares in c ’Orace & Co.,’ 
any’ow,” testified Mr. Tridge. 

“A millionaire for a owner, and our own sort of 
private Santy Claus in the fo’c’sle,” remarked Mr. Lock 
gleefully. “I reckon that’s quite enough to fill anyone 
with what foreigners calls, for some reason or other, 
joy de vivree ” 

“Oh, well, they can’t ’elp being iggerant!” tolerantly 
excused Mr. Tridge, for the auspicious start of the day 
had made him jubilant enough to forgive anybody for 
anything. 

“Ah, and they are iggerant, too!” corroborated Mr. 
Clark. “I remember once asking a Frenchy something 
in Boolong, and ’e never even begun to understand me, 
even though I asked ’im the question over and over 
again, at the very top of me voice. In the end ’e 
abs’lutely run away, ’e did! And then again, once, 
over in Cally, I wanted some needles and thread—it 
was about the time when they used to keep a watch-dog 
on the ‘Vivid,’ you may remember—and I went into a 
shop-” 

“ ‘ Magazeens / they calls ’em,” volunteered the eru¬ 
dite Mr. Lock. 

“Never mind what they calls ’em!” retorted Mr. 
Clark. “It was a shop, just the same, and in I goes, 
and asks for what I wants, quite civil, there being a gal 
be’ind the counter, but do you think I could ever get 
’em to-” 

“We ain’t come ’ere to talk about your past life, 




THE OLD FIRM 


105 


Sam,” interrupted Mr. Dobb. “There’s been too much 
of it, for one thing, and, for another, we’ve got some¬ 
thing much more important to talk about.” 

“All the same,” said Mr. Clark, not to be immedi¬ 
ately suppressed, “they ’ad to go out and fetch a kind 
of p’liceman to me, in the end. “ ’E’d got a sword 
and-” 

“Now about this here John Smith, as ’e calls ’im- 
self,” struck in Horace. 

“But I didn’t come away empty-’anded,” pridefully 
maintained Mr. Clark. “I’d got three pincushions and 
a bunch of artificial flowers in my pockets when I come 
out. Got ’em while they was waiting for the p’liceman 
to arrive.” 

“This here John Smith, as he calls himself,” in¬ 
sistently repeated Mr. Dobb. 

“Ah, but that ain’t ’is real name, though,” pointed 
out Mr. Clark. 

“Well, we all know that well enough,” impatiently 
returned Mr. Dobb. “We all know his real name as 
well as you do. It’s—it’s—er—it’s-” 

“Cliff—Cliff something - or - other Somebody,” 
prompted Mr. Clark helpfully. “When Mr. Pidgett let 
the name slip that morning, the Cliff part, any way, 
stuck tight in me mind.” 

“Well, it stuck in mine, too, when you told me” 
said Mr. Dobb. “Because it reminded me at once x)£ 
Cliftonville, near Margit, where I once spent a day 
with a young party, when I ’ad more money than 
sense.” 

“Oh, well, what the rest of ’is name may be, don’t 
so much matter!” contended Mr. Tridge. “The big 
thing is that we’re pretty safe in recognizing ’im as the 
young feller Miss Barton’s in love with.” 



106 


THE OLD FIRM 


“Quite romantical, ain’t it?” said Mr. Clark. 

“I’ve paid good money to see sillier things on the 
moving pickchers,” admitted Mr. Dohb. “He’s trying 
to get a job on the boat to be near ’er. When ’e’s mar¬ 
ried to ’er ’e may try to get a job on a boat for the 
very bopposite reason, same as I did.” 

“And ’e’s calling ’imself ‘John Smith/ so as the 
owner won’t know ’im,” put in Mr. Clark acutely. 
“Mr. Pidgett ain’t ever seen ’im, nor ’ave any of ’em 
except Miss Barton, so ’e’s quite safe.” 

“Well, and we’re not to let ’im know that we know 
who ’e really is, neither,” Mr. Dobb warned bis ship¬ 
mates. “It’ll be killing the goose with the golden eggs 
if we do.” 

“ ’Ow’s that ?” inquired Mr. Tridge. “I should 
’ave thought it would ’ave ’elped us to put the screw on 
’im a bit.” 

“Ob, we’ll put the screw on ’im all right when the 
time comes,” shamelessly promised Mr. Dobb. “But 
for the present we don’t know nothing. It’ll pay us 
better, because a young chap in love don’t take no heed 
of money.” 

“Otherwise,” sapiently argued Mr. Clark, “ ’e 
wouldn’t be in love.” 

“Five quid apiece to ’elp ’im to a job!” rhapsodized 
Mr. Tridge. “That proves ’ow deep ’e is in love, don’t 
it? Why, in the old days, a couple of pints apiece 
would have done the trick. It shows you ’ow dead 
keen ’e is.” 

“For meself,” mentioned Mr. Clark, “I like ’elping 
folks who don’t mind badmitting that they appreciates 
your ’elp.” 

“First we ’elps ’im to a job and pockets five quid 
apiece,” sketched Mr. Dobb. “Then, one day, ’e’ll ad- 


THE OLD FIRM 


107 


mit, either by accident or apurpose, that ’e ain’t really 
John Smith, and ’e’ll give us another little bonus to 
keep it dark. And then Vll tell us ’ow Vs in love with 
Miss Barton, and Vll promise us another nice slice of 
spondulick pudden to Vp ’im to get ’er. And then, 
after that, we can always he touching ’im for a bit, one 
way or another, putting up fresh ideas to ’im, and so 
forth. A chap with ’is income is hound to ’ave a nice 
little bit of capital to draw on.” 

“Oh, he’s going to be a regular little goldmine to 
us,” happily prophesied Mr. Tridge. “Why, you’d ’ear 
my ’eart go crack like a pistol if he didn’t get took on 
aboard ’ere now.” 

“ ’E’ll be took on all right,” asserted Mr. Dobb with 
all confidence. 

“ ’Ow’s it to be worked ?” asked Mr. Tridge. 

Mr. Dobb raised his forefinger and tapped impres¬ 
sively of his temple. 

“The old incubator is warming up nicely,” he an¬ 
nounced. “It’s just on boiling point!” 

He nodded reassuringly and made a gesture which 
enjoined silence for the encouragement of fecund 
thought. 


CHAPTER X 


T HE elegant Mr. Stanley Pidgett, thrusting back 
his chair a little way from the breakfast-table, 
lighted a cigarette with indolent grace, and insincerely 
affected an air of modesty by scrutinizing his immacu¬ 
late finger nails. 

His mother, on the farther side of the ornate coffee-urn, 
•was sedulously eating toast and marmalade, hut with¬ 
out for a moment allowing her admiring gaze to stray 
from the countenance of her splendid son; nor did she 
permit the exigencies of mastication to preclude the 
utterance of such remarks as her maternal pride com¬ 
pelled her to voice. 

The vacant seat at the third side of the table gave 
reminder of the absence in London of Mr. Pidgett, 
senior, and the fourth place was occupied by Miss Bar¬ 
ton. A certain apprehensive self-suppression marked 
| the demeanour of that young lady, a nervous watchful- 
1 ness which expressed itself in broken sentences, and in 
sudden, hut brief, concentrations of interest upon her 
breakfast, and in rather fearful peeps along the deck 
through the open doorway of the saloon. 

And, ministrant in the background, Mrs. Brockway, 
the stewardess, nodded a respectful, sycophantic agree¬ 
ment with all that Mrs. Pidgett was saying, and yet 
betrayed private mental reservations by tight-folded 
corners to lips and a suggestion of veiled scepticism in 
her eyes whenever she glanced at the complacent, loung¬ 
ing figure of Mr. Stanley Pidgett. 

“Your pa will he proud of you, Stan!” the owner’s 
108 


THE OLD FIRM 


109 


wife prophesied for the tenth time since the meal had 
begun. 

Mr. Stanley smiled down his nose, and flicked the 
ash from his cigarette into his empty cup. 

“Heroic, 1 call it,” roundly asserted his doting 
mother. “Fancy tackling a burglar like that, and all 
in the dark, too! Even I could never have believed it 
of you,” she admitted with candour. “I can hardly 
even believe it now. What your pa will say when ’e 
’ears-” 

“Oh, shut up, mater!” ambiguously murmured 
Stanley. 

“There’s lots of people got medals for less braver 
things,” insisted Mrs. Pidgett. “O.B.E’s, and things. 
I dare say you re entitled to a medal, if the truth was 
only known. We must ask your pa. If anyone can 
pull the strings for one, ’e can. Fancy arresting a 
desperate burglar in the dark! Don’t you think it’s as 
brave as anything you ever heard of, Nora?” 

“I—I beg your pardon, aunt!” exclaimed Miss Bar¬ 
ton, guiltily ceasing to peer out at the deck. “I—I 
was-” 

“Ah, my poor dear child, you’re still shook up by 
them dreadful happenings last night!” declared Mrs. 
Pidgett compassionately. “You seem quite scared and 
anxious even now. Why, you keep looking through the 
door as if you half expected to see him on the deck.” 

“See—see him?” fluttered the girl. “Yes, I—oh! 
you mean the burglar? Oh, no, I’m not frightened 
now, aunt! I’m quite all right again, really I am!” 

“It’s a mercy we had someone to protect us,” said 
Mrs. Pidgett. “Fancy, all in the dark! Brave as 
brave, I call it. Don’t you, Nora? Tackling a savage, 
desperate burglar like that.” 




110 


THE OLD FIRM 


“It was tremendously brave of him, I think,” agreed 
Nora fervently. 

Mr. Stanley, affecting coyness at this tribute, snick¬ 
ered fatly and made bashful, protesting noises. 

“How he could have had the courage, all in the 
dark!” marvelled his adoring mother. 

“It was real bravery,” observed Miss Barton, colour¬ 
ing prettily. 

The splendid Stanley raised his eyes to her, plainly 
appreciative of, and encouraged by, such praise. He 
had something of the aspect of a misunderstood prince 
coming into belated possession of his kingdom. 

“I’m sure if it hadn’t been for Stanley’s pluck-” 

began Mrs. Pidgett. 

“Stanley?” blankly ejaculated Miss Barton. “Oh, 
I thought you were talking about—about the other 
man!” 

“Him!” exclaimed Stanley. “He didn’t have much 
to do with it. It was practically all over before he got 
there. I’ve been telling you-” 

“Oh, but surely he came to your rescue!” said the 
girl spiritedly. “That’s what I understood last night.” 

“Not a bit of it!” denied Stanley, with irritation. 
“He hindered far more than he helped. Pity he came 
at all, really. If it hadn’t been for him interfer¬ 
ing-” 

“Yes?” asked Miss Barton coldly. 

“Well, I mean he did his best, and all that sort of 
thing,” replied her cousin, a little constrainedly, “but, 
really—what I mean to say is—really, I didn’t actually 
need his help”—he paused—“after all, I—I’d already 
knocked his revolver out of his hand and-” 

“Revolver ?” cried Mrs. Pidgett, aghast. “That’s the 
first I’ve heard talk of a revolver!” 




THE OLD FIRM 


111 


“It’s the first I’ve heard of it, too,” said the girl. 

“Well, there was a revolver, see,” affirmed Stanley, 
speaking on a defiant note. 

“What your pa’ll say-” exclaimed Mrs. Pidgett, 

showing a tendency to indulge in vain repetition. “A 
revolver! Fancy!” 

“Fancy!” echoed Nora, and her pronunciation made 
the words sound less like amazement than like cynical 
assertion. 

“I didn’t mention it,” said Stanley, after a short 
pause devoted to examination of the tip of his ciga¬ 
rette, “because I—I didn’t want to alarm you. I— 
yes, he had a revolver, and I knocked it out of his 
hand as soon as I saw it-” 

“In the dark,” tonelessly mentioned Nora. 

“It—it gleamed . And I knocked it out of his hand, 
and it fell into the water.” 

“Well, what your pa will say to that!” breathed Mrs. 
Pidgett. 

“That reminds me, that johnny—the one who inter¬ 
fered—wants a job aboard here,” remarked Stanley, 
delicately turning the talk. 

Miss Barton bent her head over her plate. 

“Queer sort of chap,” described Stanley. “Bit of a 
bounder, I should say.” 

Miss Barton raised her head, opened her lips to 
speak, and then looked down again. 

“Out of work,” continued Stanley. “Bit fishy, I 
thought. Talks all right, looks all right, for that sort 
of chap. Bit of a wrong ’un, if you ask me: bad egg, 
and all that sort of thing. We don’t want him here, 
anyway. I’ll break the news to him, and drop him 
ten bob. Dare say it’ll be a godsend to him. He’ll 
find plenty of pubs handy. He’ll soon get over his 




112 


THE OLD FIRM 


disappointment. In fact, I thought it was rather cheek 
him asking to be taken on.” 

“But if he wants work very badly-” suggested 

Mrs. Pidgett. “Suppose you ask Captain Dutt what he 
thinks about it, Stan, dear.” 

“Oh, no!” he replied definitely. “He’s not at all 
the sort of chap we want aboard here. I’ll give him 
the tip to clear out straightway. I’ll go along and see 
him now, while I think of it.” 

He stood erect, yawned, and sauntered out on to the 
deck. Miss Barton, rising quickly from her chair, went 
a few paces in pursuit of him, then halted uncertainly 
and returned to the saloon. 

“I think I’ll go and lie down again, aunt,” she said 
tremulously, and passed to her cabin. 

Stanley, strolling royally towards the forecastle, au¬ 
tomatically registered with his eyebrows a lofty sur¬ 
prise at having his progress impeded by a mere com¬ 
mon member of the ship’s crew, for the aged and portly 
Mr. Samuel Clark, shambling hastily forward from 
some post of observation, had travelled full into the 
orbit of the owner’s splendid son and there had halted. 

“Beg your pardon, sir,” remarked Mr. Clark, “but 
I’d like to ’ave a little chat with you for ’alf a 
second.” 

Mr. Stanley stared ofiendedly at this presumptuous 
aspiration, but the rubicund face of Mr. Clark urgently 
radiated a stern excitement, and, impressed by this, the 
august youth distantly accorded the stout mariner per¬ 
mission to explain himself. 

“That chap down in the fo’c’sle, sir,” began Mr. 
Clark, mysteriously. “Do you know ’oo ’e is ?” 

“How should I ?” haughtily returned Stanley. 

“Ah! I thought you mightn’t,” observed Mr. Clark. 



THE OLD FIRM 


113 


“Let me tell yon this, though, sir, ’e ain’t what you 
think ’e is.” 

“Oh ?” inquired the other, languidly. 

“No!” said Mr. Clark, and portentously nodded his 
head for some moments at Stanley. 

“Well, what about him V 9 asked the youth at length. 

“ Halleybys, in cogs , whatever you like to call ’em!” 
whispered Mr. Clark tensely, and stood hack to note the 
effect of these revelations. 

“I don’t follow,” frowned Stanley. “What do you 
mean V 9 

“ ‘John Smith,’ ’e calls ’imself, hut that ain’t ’is real 
name. ’E only does that for pertence. That’s to throw 
dust in your eyes.” 

“Do you mean he’s a—a convict ? Something of that 
sort ?” 

“Oh, no, sir!” disclaimed Mr. Clark. “Far from 
it.” 

“Then what do you mean?” demanded Stanley. 

“Hangel hunawares, more like,” said Mr. Clark. 

“Oh, I give it up!” petulantly exclaimed the exalted 
one, and would have moved on, had not Mr. Clark inter¬ 
posed his stature. 

“I think you ought to know about ’im, sir. What ’e 
is, in a manner of speaking, is a mystery. ’E’s a mys¬ 
tery to them what do know ’im, and ’e’s a mystery to 
them what don’t know ’im.” 

Mr. Clark cautiously peered about him, and then, 
raising his palm, whispered sibilantly behind it towards 
Stanley. 

“Oh, speak louder, man!” crossly requested that 
youth. “I never heard a word.” 

“Markiss’s son!” repeated Mr. Clark, with more dis¬ 
tinctness. 


114 THE OLD FIRM 

“What?” ejaculated Stanley. “Oh, don’t he a damn 
fool!” 

“Fact!” solemnly asseverated Mr. Clark. 

“But—hut what marquis—which marquis ? . . . Oh, 
you’re talking bally rot!” 

“Begging your pardon, sir,” protested Mr. Clark, 
with dignity, “I wouldn’t dream of doing such a thing.” 

“But—hut-” 

“I don’t ask you to take my word, sir. Luckily 
there’s others aboard can hear out what I say. All I 
know is that I’ve seen this ’ere John Smith, as ’e calls 
’isself, at other ports before to-day. Mind you, I didn’t 
know ’oo ’e was special, hut I couldn’t ’elp noticing ’im, 
on account of the lovely steam-yacht ’e owned, and all 
the servants rushing round to do what ’e told ’em.” 

“Don’t talk such rot! You’re making some mistake. 
You must have noticed someone else very like him. 
Why on earth should a man like that want a job-” 

“Ah! that I couldn’t tell you, sir. Whether ’e’s 
quarrelled with ’is father or not, that I couldn’t say. 
All I do know is that ’e’s the swell I’ve seen many a 
time on ’is own steam-yacht, and that I’ll take my affi¬ 
davit to!” 

For some while Stanley stroked his glossy locks in 
deep perplexity. 

“Oh, you’re talking through your blessed hat!” he 
impatiently decided at last. 

“Oh, no, I ain’t, sir! I know what I’m talking about. 
And I know that ’e’s a markiss’s son, too, because Peter 
Lock ’imself told me. Beyond that I do admit I know 
nothing.” 

“And how does Lock think he knows ?” 

“Why, Peter used to be a indoor servant, sir, one 
time, second footman, or something, to ever so many of 
the nobs, sir.” 




THE OLD FIRM 


115 


“Oh, the whole thing is impossible!” declared Stan¬ 
ley, “of course it is! Damn nonsense. . . * However, 
send Lock to me.” 

Mr. Clark departed, walking, for some abstruse 
psychological reason, very softly and carefully. 

Mr. Pidgett, junior, left alone, mused almost fret¬ 
fully over what he had been told. It irked him to have 
to decide that there could he no truth in these tidings. 
He wished that Mr. Clark’s statement could be true, for 
he was quick-witted enough to perceive the prestige to be 
secured by having the son of a marquis among one’s 
boat-crew, whatever the circumstances that established 
the engagement. 

The fact could be alluded to casually at gatherings. 
It could be made the basis of satisfactory bets with 
sceptical acquaintances. Indeed, tactfully handled and 
exploited, it might develop into a tremendous aid to 
social advancement. Suppose, cogitated Stanley, this 
stranger really were a scion of aristocracy who had 
quarrelled with his father % One day the breach might 
be healed, and then gratitude would be shown for kindly 
treatment in the past. Almost certainly there would be 
a week-end invitation to stay at the ancestral home. 
The visit might be repeated again and again, leading to 
presence at shooting parties, hunting- 

Mr. Pidgett, junior, with a sigh, turned away from 
contemplation of this bright mirage, but Still cherished 
a lingering spark of hope that fortune might, after all, 
prove unexpectedly generous. 

Mr. Horace Dobb, that inconspicuous setter of nets, 
was seldom at fault in his choice of the lures with which 
he drew his quarry to entanglement. 

“Peter’s gone ashore for the letters, sir,” announced 
Mr. Clark, returning. 

“I see,” said Stanley uncertainly. “I see. Well, 


116 


THE OLD FIRM 


send him to me the moment he comes back. Of course, 
I’m sure you’re making a big mistake, but-” 

“The proof of the pudden, sir,” reminded Mr. 
Clark, with reproachful loftiness, “is in the heating 
thereof.” 

Stanley, going back to the saloon, dragged out a chair, 
and occupied it with spectacular ease and dignity, and 
presently Mr. John Smith emerged from the forecastle 
and approached him. 

“Good morning,” said Mr. Smith. “Hope you won’t 
mind me intruding on you, hut I was a hit anxious to 
hear whether you’d decided to give me a job or not.” 

“I haven’t made up my mind yet,” answered Stanley, 
carefully lighting a fresh cigarette. 

“Oh, well, I’ll hope for the best! I think you’ll find 
me useful, if you’ve got any sort of vacancy.” 

“Know anything about the sea ?” asked Stanley. 

“Oh, knocked about a bit, you know—knocked about 
a bit.” 

“Got any papers ?” 

“Well, no, I haven’t.” 

“You’ve served as an A.B. before, of course?” 

“Well, no, I haven’t,” said Mr. Smith again. “At 
least—well, not exactly as an A.B., you know.” 

Mr. Pidgett, junior, noted the faintest trace of em¬ 
barrassment on the other man’s face, and the tiny spark 
of hope within him glowed a little brighter. 

“Well, what experience have you got ?” he asked. 

Mr. Smith replied, rather vaguely, that he had had a 
good deal, of different sorts, at different times. 

“Ever had anything to do with steam-yachts ?” asked 
Stanley. 

“Well, I—I’ve been on them,” said Mr. Smith, a little 
puzzled by the query. 



THE OLD FIRM 


117 


“Oh, yon have ?” remarked Stanley, well pleased with 
his diplomacy. “Which ones have yon been on ?” 

“Oh, several,” returned the other evasively. “But— 
but this is a sailing ship, isn’t it P 

“Oh, quite!” said Stanley. “I was only wondering 
if you knew anything at all about steam-yachts, that’s 
all. Well, now, look here, what references could you 
give us P 

“I’m afraid that presents a difficulty. There isn’t 
anyone to whom I could refer you.” 

“But surely there must be someone -” 

“I prefer not to supply any names,” stated Mr. 
Smith. 

“Bit—ah!—peculiar, isn’t it?” 

“Possibly.” 

“Let me see, you told me your name was Smith, 
didn’t you ?—John Smith, I think you said ?” 

“John Smith.” 

“And—and—ah!—is that your real name ?” 

“It’s the name I’m prepared to answer to,” returned 
the other doggedly, and trying to look as if he were 
unaware that his complexion had taken on a vivid glow. 

“But, I say, all this is so bally mysterious, and all 
that sort of thing, you know,” commented Stanley. 
“Where do you come from, anyway? London?” 

“As a rule.” 

“Been pretty well educated, and that kind of thing ?” 
suggested Stanley. “I mean, the way you talk, and so 
forth, and so on.” 

“My parents did give me a pretty decent education,” 
gravely admitted Mr. Smith. Then his eyes suddenly 
twinkled. “I hope that won’t stand in my way ?” 

“But can’t you tell me something more about your¬ 
self?” 



118 


THE OLD FIRM 


“Well, I’ve never stolen anything, and I’m sober and 

industrious, and—and willing, and-. Seem to be 

talking like my own epitaph, don’t I?” be broke off. 
“Sorry!” 

“Well, look here, as man to man, and all that sort of 
thing, why don't you tell us just who you are ?” 

“For my own private reasons.” 

“You don’t wish to be recognized ?” 

“No, I don’t!” emphatically admitted Smith. 

“I see,” murmured Stanley, and glanced at the other 
through narrowed eyelids. “But suppose you’ve been 
recognized already?” 

“Eh!” exclaimed the startled Smith. 

“Oh, you needn’t get the wind up!” soothed Stanley, 
covering what he imagined to be a tactical blunder. “I 
was only suggesting the idea. Who and what you are 
is of no particular interest to us, of course, don’t you 
know. Absolutely not! I mean—ah, there’s Lock with 
the letters! I want to speak to him about something. 
Stay where you are—I’ll come back.” 

A swelling satisfaction was in him as he strolled 
away. Not only could he highly commend himself for 
the delicate way his diplomacy had conducted the cate¬ 
chism of the new-comer, but also he could find the 
greatest encouragement to his hopes in the stubborn 
elusions of the replies he had elicited. 

And the soi-disant Smith, quite unaware of the 
nature of the crew’s efforts on his behalf, was puzzled 
by the tone of the interview, and felt like a neophyte on 
the tight-rope whose relief at finding he can keep his 
balance is tempered by the knowledge that he still has 
the remainder of the journey to accomplish. 

“Oh, Lock!” said Stanley, to that trim and person¬ 
able sailorman, “a word with you.” 



THE OLD FIRM 


119 


Sir, to you, returned Mr. Lock, with a polite flour¬ 
ish of his palm. 

“Tell me, do you—ah—do you recognize that chap 
I’ve just been talking to V’ 

“I do, sir,” stated Mr. Lock. 

“Do you know who he is ?” 

“I do, sir. I know him as well as you do, sir.” 

“As well as I do ?” involuntarily queried Stanley. 

Well, sir,” explained Mr. Lock, “you belonging to 
the aristocratical world, you’re bound to know him, 
friendly like. You’re bound to have met him fre¬ 
quently at the swell clubs, and operas and balls and 
things where you aristocratical gents go. Of course, 
I’ve only been a servant when I’ve seen him before, 
but you must have come across him many a time as an 
equal, sir. He belongs to all the best clubs, sir, he does, 
same as you do yourself, of course.” 

“Of course,” agreed Stanley slowly, concealing grati¬ 
fication in this flattery. “But I—I don’t seem to 
remember him. One goes about,” he added, with 
assumption of boredom, “one goes here and there, and, 
as it were, everywhere, but one can’t remember every¬ 
thing or everybody, can one ?” 

“Hot a busy man-about-town like you can’t, sir,” 
agreed Mr. Lock. “The last time I see him, myself, 
was when I was footman at the Duke o’—well, I won’t 
give no names, sir, and I’m sure you’ll admit I’m right. 
Discretion, sir—that’s my specialty.” 

“Oh, quite!” said Stanley. 

“Anyway, he used to come to all the big parties there 
—two or three years ago that was. Then, when I was 
in service with—with another aristocratical family, he 
was a regular visitor there. I think that’s where I first 
see you, sir,” ventured Mr. Lock. 


120 


THE OLD FIRM 


“I dare say,” carelessly conceded Stanley, but 
showed no desire to dwell on the point. “Funny 
thing,” he said. “I do seem to remember him, 
but I can’t remember the johnny’s name at the mo- 
ment.” 

“The Honorable Claude Worthing, sir,” supplied 
Mr. Lock, in a respectful whisper. “Eather’s the 
Markiss o’ Brighton, sir.” 

“Of course, of course!” exclaimed Stanley. “Ah, 
now I remember him!” 

“I thought you would, sir,” remarked Mr. Lock, with 
a strange, gleaming smile. “Dare say you remember 
now, sir, the stir it made in high society when he quar¬ 
relled with his father.” 

Stanley pursed his lips and nodded as one to whom 
the intimate life of the aristocracy is an open hook. 

“The markiss was furious, sir. Turned him out¬ 
doors.” 

“So I heard,” hardily returned Stanley. 

“They ain’t spoke for over a year now. The old gent 
wants to patch up the quarrel, hut the young ’un won’t. 
A mass of pride, that’s what he is. Independent! 
Earns his own living, best as he can. Let me see, 
didn’t he say something about wanting a job last night, 
sir ?” 

“Yes, I—I’ve half-promised him one.” 

“Do you think he recognized you as one of his club- 
mates, sir ? I don’t think he could have, otherwise he’s 

so proud and-I wouldn’t mind laying a hit that you 

and him have had sprees together before now, sir, arm- 
in-arm down the West End.” 

Stanley, with some histrionic skill, permitted him¬ 
self a reticent smile. 

“Perhaps he’s hoping you won’t recognize him, sir. 


THE OLD FIRM 


in 

Wonder Low lie come to be here? Down and out, I 
dare say.” 

“By the way,” said Stanley, “wbat did be quarrel 
with the Marquis about ?” 

“A young lady, sir, so I always understood. He was 
very set on marrying some young lady he’d met, and his 
father had other views for him, as they say.” 

“And did he marry her ?” 

“Still engaged to her, I fancy, sir. Anyway, we was 
pumping him a bit in the fo’c’sle at breakfast, and he 
told us he hoped to be getting married before long.” 

A lingering shade of hesitation quitted Stanley’s brow. 
From the back of his mind was banished a disquieting 
little question as to how the presence of a prepossessing 
scion of nobility would react on his own position with 
Miss Barton. 

“I see!” said Stanley, and began to move away. 

“By the way, sir,” solicitously said Mr. Lock, “I do 
hope you won’t get the idea that I’m not reliable or to 
be trusted. I mean, telling you so much about people 
where I’ve been employed. After all, I shouldn’t have 
said nothing if you hadn’t known all about him 
already.” 

“Oh, quite!” graciously returned Stanley. 

“It isn’t as if I didn’t tell you nothing you didn’t 
know before,” urged Mr. Lock. 

“Exactly,” said Stanley. “That’s all right, Lock.” 

He was strolling back to Smith when, for the second 
time that morning, a member of the crew had the 
temerity to claim his attention by arrestive methods. 
Mr. Horace Dobb, who had been closely watching the 
course of events through a window, now came hurriedly 
from his galley and waved a dishcloth to secure Stan¬ 
ley’s heed. 


122 


THE OLD FIRM 


“When I went along this morning to fetch the milk 
for breakfast, sir-” he began. 

“Oh, hang the milk!” irritably cried Stanley. “Fm 
busy, man—fearfully busy! If it’s anything to do with 
the food, you must see my mother about it.” 

“It ain’t food, sir. It’s a bit of a queer yarn I 
heard, sir. Far as I can make out, it’s about that 
chap,” said Horace, nodding at Smith. “At least, I 
think it is. On the other ’and, it might not be. That’s 
to say-” 

Irascibly requested by Stanley to abstain from super¬ 
fluous speech, Horace embarked straightway into nar¬ 
ration. 

Briefly he described a visit he had made that morn¬ 
ing to the nearest dairy, where, while awaiting his turn 
to be served, he had entered into casual conversation 
with another maritime customer. It seemed that this 
latter gentleman had something akin to society gossip 
to relate, and, practically without invitation, had lav¬ 
ished it on Horace. The information thus received was 
now breathlessly passed on by the cook of the “Jane 
Gladys” to the owner’s son. 

“Found out ’oo ’e was, sir, quite by haccident,” 
wound up Horace, “after ’e’d been belonging to their 
crew for three months and more. And, late last night, 
they spoke to ’im straight out about ’is ’igh birth, and 
’e was so annoyed at being discovered that ’e just threw 
up ’is job, there and then, and wouldn’t come back to 
’em again at no price.” 

“Well, I don’t care who he is,” declared Stanley, “if 
a chap wants a job here, and he’s the right sort, he can 
have a job. And I’ve promised Smith a job. And, 
since he wants to be called Smith, we’ll call him Smith, 



THE OLD FIRM 


123 

and there’s not the slightest need to let him know we 
know otherwise.” 

“Ah, you’ve got a kind, charitable heart, sir!” ob¬ 
served Horace. “I guessed you wouldn’t let ’im go 
without giving him a chance.” 

When Mr. Pidgett, senior, returned from London at 
midday, his son and heir swiftly bore him off to secrecy 
in the saloon. Mr. Pidgett, senior, emerged from that 
conversation in an extremely affable frame of mind, 
and, before summoning Smith to his presence, appro- 
hatively patted Stanley on the hack a great number of 
times. 

“My son tells me Vs—he’s taken you on hoard ’ere 
as one of the crew,” said Mr. Pidgett, when presently, 
he called Smith to him. “I hope you’ll get on all right 
and prove worthy of his kindness. At the same time, ’ 
he added, “if there’s anything you don’t like in your 
treatment aboard ’ere, or anything in reason you’d like 
altered, don’t you he afraid to come to me about it, 
young man!” 

“Pa!” cried Mrs. Pidgett, returning from a stroll 
ashore, “ ’ave you ’eard—oh, bother!—’oo cares ? I’m 
that excited! ’Ave you ’eard about young Stan and the 
burglar? What you’ll say-” 

“You can go hack to the rest of the crew now,” said 
Stanley, hurriedly, to Smith. 

Mrs. Pidgett’s voice rose in tones of high emotional 
stress as Mr. Smith turned away to go below to his new 
comrades. His final glimpse of Mr. Pidgett, as he 
descended into the forecastle, revealed that autocrat 
listening with wondering incredulity to the torrent of 
eager news issuing from the lady’s lips. 



124 


THE OLD FIRM 


Smith’s first act was to shake hands ecstatically with 
each of the four seamen in turn. His next was to pro¬ 
duce wealth and make good his promise to his future 
colleagues. 

“Though exactly how it’s been worked,” he admitted, 
“beats me. Anyway, you can bet I’m satisfied!” 

“Ah! there’s lots of things ’appen what no one can 
tell ’ow we’ve worked ’em,” said Horace. “Don’t you 
ever ’esitate to come to us when you wants another bit 
of ’elp. We can do things!” he boasted. “Like chess¬ 
players, we are. We keep moving our men, bit by bit, 
and then, all at once, soon as we’re ready, it’s our 
game!” 

“That’s it,” agreed Mr. Clark. “Always a-moving 
the pieces forrard, we are. You’re another piece we’ve 
moved forrard. Ain’t that so, boys ?” 

Mr. Tridge and Mr. Lock replied that this was, 
indeed, so; but Mr. Horace Dobb was quick to explain 
that if Mr. Smith had been moved forward, it was 
solely and entirely for his own good. 

“Why, of course!” said Mr. Clark. “ ’Oose else good 
do you think it could be for ?” 


CHAPTER XI 


T HE “Jane Gladys / 7 brought-to for the week-end 
in the fashionable resort of Tormouth, lay lapped 
in the luxurious inertia of Sunday afternoon. 

The owner and his relations had withdrawn their 
august presences. Mr. Janies Pidgett had been bitten* 
by a desire to advertise to all beholders his perfect right 
and ability to indulge in Sybaritism if he chose, and, 
to that end, he had borne off his wife and niece to tem¬ 
porary residence in that immense hotel on the esplanade 
whose austere splendours so quickly reduced to life-size 
the owners of even the largest motor-cars. And Mr., 
Stanley Pidgett, remaining to sleep on board the “Jane 
Gladys 77 till a late hour, had at length gone off, bril¬ 
liantly garbed, and with his narrow frame bowed down 
beneath the weight of a vast and wonderfully varied 
collection of golfing implements. 

Down in the forecastle Mr. Peter Lock was hope¬ 
fully prospecting among the headlines of a Sunday 
newspaper. Mr. Horace Dobb, with a pen in his hand 
and a blank sheet of notepaper before him, was posed 
for authorship, and, indeed, had been thus posed for 
twenty minutes past. Mr. Samuel Clark and Mr. 
Joseph Tridge drowsed in their hunks, and Mr. John 
Smith was in supine enjoyment of a book he had scan¬ 
dalized his shipmates by purchasing the night before at 
its published price. 

“Oh, what 7 s the good ? 77 suddenly exclaimed Mr. 
Dobb, sitting back. “If I do write to my missis she’ll 
125 


126 


THE OLD FIRM 


only read it and be done with it. Whereas, if I don't 
write to her, she’ll keep expecting to hear from me, and 
that’ll make her think of me far more often than she 
would if I wrote to her.” 

“Besides,” remarked Mr. Lock helpfully, “what have 
you got to tell her, special ?” 

“Why, nothing!” 

“But perhaps you’re going to send her a postal 
order ?” suggested Mr. Lock. 

Mr. Dobb obliquely replied by requesting his ship¬ 
mate not to be a distinctly-specified kind of fool. 

“Very well, then!” said Mr. Lock. “Why write?” 

“Exactly!” accepted Mr. Dobb, and forthwith jetti¬ 
soned his intents on correspondence. “Thank goodness 
that’s done with! It’s been a weight on my mind all 
day. And I should ’ave had to borrow a stamp any¬ 
way.” 

“Ah! we did have a pretty good evening last night ,’ 7 
acquiesced Mr. Lock. 

“And yet there’s some fellers says Devonshire cider 
is a teetotal drink,” remarked Horace. 

“And so it may be,” reasonably contended Mr. Lock, 
“if you don’t go putting a drop of spirits in with it 
every time.” 

“Well, you don’t suppose I was going to give any¬ 
body half a chance to go round saying they saw me 
having teetotal drinks, do you?” returned Mr. Dobb. 
“Besides, it’s chilly stuff, cider is, and I like to be care¬ 
ful.” 

“It warmed up old Sam all right, anyhow,” stated 
Mr. Lock. “Remember him stopping that tram to ask 
the driver where his starboard light was ?” 

“That was Joe done that,” sleepily murmured Mr. 
Clark, opening one eye. 


THE OLD FIRM 


127 


“So it was,” agreed Mr. Lock. “It was you what 
bought the cod’s head off of the barrow, though.” 

“Did I ?” questioned Mr. Clark in surprise. “What 
for, I wonder?” 

“I don’t know,” replied Mr. Lock. “You said it 
reminded you of someone. You gave it to a railway- 
porter in the end—gave him that and eightpence, you 
did.” 

“I did?” challenged Mr. Clark, now wide awake. 
“What for?” 

“Why, you said you couldn’t think what else to do 
with the blessed thing, now you’d got it.” 

“Strikes me,” remarked Mr. Clark with asperity, 
“you chaps allowed me to be a blessed sight too free 
with my money!” 

He lay still a little while in rankling thought. 

“Ho wonder I ain’t got a single penny left in me 
pockets to-day!” he complained bitterly at last. 

“You can’t eat your cake and have it too, Sam,” 
Mr. Lock philosophically reminded him. 

“But I didn’t eat it,” denied Mr. Clark. “Far as I 
can see, I went about all over the place, giving it to 
blessed railway porters. A nice state of affairs! Pen¬ 
niless in a strange town, and with all the evening com¬ 
ing on, too!” 

He struggled up on one elbow and gazed at Horace. 

“Ho good doing the despairing porpuss act at me ,, 
Sam,” Mr. Dohb informed him. “I’m in the same boat 
as you. Spent clean out!” 

“Same here!” Mr. Lock made haste to affirm. 

Mr. Clark twisted himself to regard tentatively the 
sleeping form of Mr. Joseph Tridge. Recognizing the 
futility of any appeal in that direction, he transferred 
his attention to the fifth person present. 


THE OLD FIRM 


128 

“And what sort of a time did you have last evening, 
chum, after you left us ?” he asked in honeyed accents. 
“Enjoyed yourself all right, I do ’ope. ’Ear what I’m 
saying, Mr. Smith? I’m ’oping you ’ad a pleasant 
evening ashore last night.” 

“Eh!” exclaimed Smith, looking up from his hook. 

“I was saying I ’oped you ’ad a good time ashore last 
evening.” 

“I ? Oh, not so bad! I had a hit of shopping to do, 
you know. First chance I’ve had since we left Strid- 
port.” 

“Ah, I remember you buying a shirt or two and some 
socks and things in a ’urry, just before we sailed,” 
recalled Mr. Clark. “I should ’ave thought they’d ’ave 
lasted you the fortnight all right.” 

“Hot quite.” 

“You ought to ’ave brought some things with you in 
a bag when you joined us. You wouldn’t ’ave to go 
spending your money then.” 

“Well, I didn’t know I was going to join you. I—I 
came away from London in rather a hurry that even¬ 
ing, and I didn’t have time to pack anything. How¬ 
ever, I believe I’m fixed up all right now for a good 
while.” 

“If that there porkmanker is full of noo things you 
ought to be fixed up for the rest of your life,” rejoined 
Mr. Clark crisply. “Bit of a spendthrift, I’m afraid 
you must be. S’pose there was a wreck? S’pose you 
fell overboard and got drowned ?” 

“Perhaps I did buy rather more than I need have 
done,” ceded Mr. Smith. “There was rather a good 
outfitter’s shop still open on the sea-front. He tempted 
me, and I fell. I’m pretty well stoney broke till I— 
till I get a letter I’m expecting, at all events.” 


THE OLD FIRM 


129 


“Oh!” said Mr. Clark, shortly, and with a certain 
antagonism. 

“However,” added Mr. Smith, shrugging down com¬ 
fortably to his book again, “I'm not worrying.” 

“There’s a nice thing!” audibly grumbled Mr. Clark. 
“All the lot of us ’ard up, and we don’t sail till to¬ 
morrow evening!” 

“It isn’t the first time it’s been like this in this 
fo’c’sle, Sam,” Mr. Lock reminded him, tranquilly. 

“That ain’t nothing to do with it!” retorted Mr. 
Clark. “There ain’t no call for it to be like that now ! 
Pity some folks are so dressy that they can’t leave a bit 
over for hemergencies, that’s all I’ve got to say. And 
them ’aving a real easy time, too, with the owner taking 
a fancy to ’em, for some reason or other, and treating 
’em as civil and polite as if they was equals! And 
then ignoring the—the little wants of them chaps what 
made ’is path easy for ’im! That ain’t my idea of fair 
play!” 

“Shut up, you stoopid old grampuss!” directed 
Horace, with a repressive shake of his head at the 
plump malcontent. “Didn’t our pal here give us five 
quid apiece, like a true gent, for ’elping ’im to get the 
job?” 

“Why, so ’e did,” admitted Mr. Clark, a little 
abashed. 

“And then you go mumbling and growling about ’im 
like that! I’m ashamed of you; I am really! Do you 
think that’s a fitting reward for ’is generosity ? Do you 
think it likely to encourage him ever to do us a kindness 
again? You ought to think twice before you speak, 
Sam, you ought really!” 

“ All right, I’m sorry,” contritely apologized Mr. 
Clark. 


130 


THE OLD FIRM 


“Yes,” warmly continued Mr. Dobb, “and if he has 
had a nice, easy time of it, with everyone speaking 
smooth and civil to him, even them in the saloon, Pm 
glad of it, I am! If the owner chooses to treat ’im 
special polite, what’s it got to do with you or with me ? 
I’m only glad if it shows him he wasn’t wasting ’is 
money in getting us to help ’im. Keep quiet and let 
’im read ’is book in peace and quiet, why don’t you ?” 

Accordingly, for some minutes, there prevailed a 
silence impinged on only by the rhythmic nasalization 
of the slumbering Mr. Tridge, and the occasional rustle 
of Mr. Lock’s newspaper. Then Mr. Clark began to 
turn himself about fretfully on his mattress, and event- 
tually clambered purposefully out of his bunk. 

“I want mine back!” he announced, fronting Mr. 
Dobb in a very definite way across the table. 

“Oh, do you?” replied Mr. Dobb calmly. “Well, 
then you can’t ’ave it back! See? For one thing, I 
put it in the Post Office before we left Stridport, as you 
very well know, and, for another, an agreement is an 
agreement, and I wouldn’t let you have it back if I 
could.” 

“I want it all back, and I’ll ’ave it all back!” 

“That ain’t the way high financiering is carried on, 
Sam,” observed Mr. Lock reproachfully. 

“An agreement is an agreement,” said Horace. 
“You subscribed your five quid to the funds of the 
signdikit, didn’t you? Come to think of it, I’m not 
sure there ain’t a Act of Parliament forbids money 
being handed back when it’s put into a company. 
Trust Funds’ or something they calls it, and there you 
are!” he explained with a great air of lucidity. “Done 
to prevent fickle people like you causing panics, I dare 
say.” 


THE OLD FIRM 


131 


“Same as runs on banks, and things like that,” said 
Mr. Lock. “I should have thought a chap like you 
would have known the laws of business better than that, 
Sam.” 

“Why, you was as keen as any of ’em when we had 
that special meeting of the signdikit, quarter of an hour 
after we each got our fiver from Mr. Smith,” Horace 
reminded Mr. Clark. “Going about swelling your 
chest at all the money you’d got invested, you were, for 
days after!” 

“We was all pretty flush when we decided to invest 
them five pounds each in the signdikit,” returned Mr. 
Clark. “We ought to ’ave known better.” 

“We all put our five quid apiece together,” Mr. 
Dobb obstinately reminded them, “and decided it 
wasn’t to be used for nothing else but ’elping the 
signdikit when the time come. Took oaths on it, we 
did. And your oaths wasn’t half horrible and binding, 
neither. And Joe Tridge, there, come up and see me 
put the money in the Post Office Savings Bank with his 
own eyes, and come back and bore witness to it to all 
of you, all regular and lawful. And now you want 
your money back again! Childish, Sam, that’s what 
you are—childish!” 

“And you re a smooth-’aired ’arpy, that’s what you 
are!” shouted the nettled Mr. Clark. “And I don’t 
trust you, nor Peter, nor Joe neither, and I think it’s a 
rotten signdikit, so there you are!” 

“I don’t think anyone else would call a signdikit 
rotten when it’s got nearly a ’undred pounds to do 
business with at the right moment,” returned Mr. 
Dobb with cold dignity. “There’s this here twenty 
quid, and nigh on seventy quid me and Joe and Peter 
are keeping safe ashore to put in it. And you, what 


132 


THE OLD FIRM 


is only putting in five quid, have the cheek to call it a 
rotten signdikit!” 

“Well, what is the signdikit doing V ’ asked Mr. 
Clark. 

“It’s keeping its eyes open,” guardedly reported Mr. 
Dobb, in view of the presence of Smith. “It’s in com¬ 
fortable quarters and—and”—he added, with a happy 
recollection of political meetings he had attended, “and 
it’s spreading its tentycles like a hoctopus.” 

“Spreading tentycles don’t seem to ’elp much, 
though,” said Mr. Clark mutinously. “What’s it doing 
besides spreading tentycles, and keeping me out of my 
lawful five quid?” 

“Securing its position and advancing its interests,” 

said Mr. Dobb. “You wait! One of these days- 

’Pon me word, come to think of it, it ’ud just serve you 
right if we was to give you back your money and ’ave 
nothing more to do with you! When you see me and 
Peter here and Joe a’sailing round inderpendent in our 
own—our very own—ship, stopping at any port just as 
long as we please, and making money hand-over-fist, 
p’raps you’ll he sorry you didn’t stick to us then!” 

“Well, I don’t want to he onreasonable,” murmured 
Mr. Clark. “But-” 

“We’ll give him his money back, Horace,” said Mr. 
Lock, stiffly. “There’ll be an end to his grumbling 
then!” 

“So we will!” agreed Mr. Dobb. “First thing to¬ 
morrow, when the post office opens.” 

“ ’Ere, you don’t want to go taking offence so easy,” 
urged Mr. Clark, in rising alarm. 

“I reckon you and me and Joe will ’ave a pretty 
good time in some of these West of England ports in the 




THE OLD FIRM 


133 


good days to come, don’t yon, Peter?” remarked Mr. 
Dobb, totally unheeding Mr. Clark’s remark. 

“iso one to be accountable to but ourselves!” said 
Mr. Lock, and sat swinging his heels and raptly regard¬ 
ing so charming a prospect. 

“I don’t see you want to be quite so ’asty with me,” 
muttered Mr. Clark “I didn’t really mean nothing. 
I only asked what the signdikit was doing.” 

“Well, and what are you doing?” swiftly demanded 
Mr. Dobb. “What ’elp are you to us ? It’s a long time 
since you brought us a bit of news worth remembering.” 

“And ’ow can I get news ?” asked Mr. Clark. 

“You ought to be nosing about, finding up little 
things worth knowing,” replied Mr. Dobb. “We don’t 
ever ’ear anything now of what’s going on in the saloon, 
for instance. Don’t your Mrs. Brockway ever tell you 
nothing?” 

“I ’ardly pass the time of day with ’er now,” said 
Mr. Clark “She’s got a patient look in ’er eye, what 
I don’t like. I generally manages to be pretty busy 
when she’s about.” 

“But you was making up to her at Shore’aven before 
we sailed,” commented Mr. Lock. 

“Only at times. And that was to prevent ’er making 
up to me. Lately I’ve let ’er see pretty plain that I’m 
cooling off,” Mr. Clark explained. “Doing it by de¬ 
grees, I am, so there ain’t no particular point where she 
can catch me up and say I ain’t as nice to ’er as I was 
yesterday.” 

“Did she ever get that re-directed letter with them 
lollipops in it, what you sent ’er ?” asked Mr. Dobb. 

“Ho,” simply replied Mr. Clark. “I ’appened to 
fetch the letters from the post office myself that day.” 


134 


THE OLD FIRM 


“So you and ’er ain’t extry particular friendly now V 3 
inquired Mr. Dobb. 

“ ‘Good morning/ ‘good afternoon/ ‘good evening* 
that’s as far as it goes now/’ said Mr. Clark with sat¬ 
isfaction. 

“ An d that's ’ow you study the interests of the sign- 
dikit !” wrathfully cried Mr. Dobb. “You go and frit¬ 
ter away your chances like tha+, and then ’ave the him- 
pudence to suggest the signdikit ain’t doing as much 
as it ought to! Up you go on deck this minute and 
start catching up with things!” 

“Yes, that’s it!” said Mr. Lock. “Go and take her 
for a nice Sunday afternoon stroll. Go on! That’s 
the idea.” 

“I don’t want to/’ stated Mr. Clark uneasily. 

Mr. Dobb glanced in offended surprise at Mr. Clark, 
and then turned his shoulder ostentatiously to that 
portly seaman. 

“What I was thinking of was this, Peter,” said Mr. 
Dobb. “The signdikit will get on all the better with 
only three of us in it. When we wants a jolly evening 
ashore, it won’t come so ’eavy on the takings-” 

“There was nothing said about me’ aving to make up 
to females when the signdikit was started,” protested 
Mr. Clark. 

“Yes,” said Mr. Lock, completely ignoring the plain¬ 
tive tones of his aged shipmate; “besides which, three 
is a much handier number than four, whatever way 
you look at it. Ask two chaps aboard for a game of 
cards, for instance, and, with the three of us already 
aboard, there’s your five all made up, convenient. But 
if there’s four of us already, one chap’s hardly worth 
asking aboard to share his losings between so many, 
is it?” 



THE OLD FIRM 


135 


“Well, I’ll go,” said Mr. Clark, a little desperately. 
“It’s against me hinclinations, and it’s against me own 
private interests, and its against me own tastes, but I’ll 
go 1” 

“Good old Sam!” exclaimed Mr. Dobb, with a quick 
arrival at cordiality. “Never knew ’im fail us yet!” 

“What ’ave I got to ask ’er ?” demanded Mr. Clark, 
peevishly putting on his coat. 

“Why, don’t ask ’er nothing. Just take ’er for a nice 
stroll and listen to what she tells you,” instructed Mr. 
Dobb. “We want to know just what’s going on in the 
saloon, and ’ow things are shaping there, and so on.” 

Smith, laying aside his book, looked across at Mr. 
Clark. 

“There’s one or two things concerning the people in 
the cabin that I’d rather like to know myself,” he re¬ 
marked. 

“There you are, Sam, that ought to be worth a bit to 
you,” said Mr. Dobb. “What was it you was wanting 
to know ?” he asked, artlessly, turning to Smith. 

“Oh, things!” vaguely replied Smith. 

“By the way, didn’t I see you chatting with Miss 
Barton yesterday morning before breakfast?” queried 
Horace gently. 

“Oh, not chatting—not chatting! She was merely 
saying what a lovely morning it was.” 

“Oh, I thought she’d slipped up on the wet boards 
maybe! I see you was ’olding ’er ’and and-” 

“Yes, that’s—that’s just what did happen!” 

Smith, after a pause of uncertainty, returned once 
more to perusal of his book. Mr. Clark, uttering a 
deep sigh, gazed in vain appeal at Mr. Dobb, and then, 
distastefully snatching up his cap, he began a slow, 
reluctant departure from the forecastle. 



CHAPTER XII 


M RS. BROCKWAY, seated on deck, was doing her 
best to uphold the dignity of the “Jane Gladys” 
in the eyes of Tormouth’s Sunday afternoon prome- 
naders. 

Her dress was of a dully-gleaming sable fabric, with 
a multiplicity of small, jetty incrustations, and it was 
fashioned in the flowing voluminous style of a mode 
long departed. A grim little black bonnet sat defiantly 
on the hair she had so tightly combed back from her 
forehead, and a pair of dazzling white cotton gloves 
clothed the hands primly folded on her lap. 

She sat very upright, uncomfortably but most gen¬ 
teelly, on the extreme edge of a deck-chair, watching 
with unapproving patronage the strollers on the quay¬ 
side. Occasional tighter pressure of her lips signalized 
the passing of some damsel whose toilet inclined at all 
to extremes; and from time to time a rigid trembling of 
the neck betokened Mrs. Brockway's entire disapproval 
of brevity and cosmetics as antidotes to age. 

Mr. Samuel Clark, drawing within sight of this stern 
censor of the public, halted and ventured a faint cough. 

“Oh, good hafte moon, Mr. Clark!" said Mrs. Brock¬ 
way distantly, looking round at him, and at once look¬ 
ing away again. 

“Same to you, ma'am, and many of 'em," returned 
Mr. Clark. “A lovely hafternoon!" 

“Yes," she agreed tersely. 

“Lots of people about," remarked Mr. Clark. 

136 


THE OLD FIRM 


137 


“Yes,” she said again. 

In view of this inauspicious opening Mr. Clark was 
reduced to silence while he groped for further material 
with which to build a conversational bridge. After 
much thought, he hestitatingly offered it as his opinion 
that Tormouth was a nice sort of place. 

“Yes.” 

Such unhelpful reiteration baffled Mr. Clark. Quite 
fiercely, he stated his belief that it was going to be a 
fine evening. 

“Yes,” said Mrs. Brockway. 

“Oh, bust!” vehemently observed Mr. Clark, and 
began to stride away. 

“Well, I’m sure!” she exclaimed in shocked tones. 
“Fancy! There’s language for a Sunday afternoon!” 

“ ‘Bust’ ain’t language,” defended Mr. Clark halt¬ 
ing. “Besides, ’ow could I ’elp it? I come up ’ere, 
prepared to—to let bygones be bygones, and you treats 
me off’and like this!” 

“And what bygones have you got to treat as bygones, 
pray?” she asked with asperity. 

Mr. Clark, after a little reflection, shook his head and 
remarked that the least said was the soonest mended. 

“It’s me that ought to talk about bygones!” declared 
the lady. “It isn’t the way I’m treating you that wants 
explaining. It’s the way you ve been treating me! 

“Me? I like that! You’ll hexcuse me saying so, 
ma’am, but, if so be there’s a flirt on this deck at this 
minute she’s wearing a bunnit. And—and a very 
pretty little bunnit, too!” amplified Mr. Clark in slow 
ingratiating accents. 

Mrs. Brockway ejaculated impatiently and, forget¬ 
ting the precariousness of her seat, essayed an indig¬ 
nant wriggle of her shoulders. Immediately she slid 


138 


THE OLD FIRM 


into tlie depths of the deck-chair, with protesting wav- 
ings of a neat pair of elastic-sided boots. 

“Oh, dear!” cried Mr. Clark at this mishap. 
“There’s a haccident to happen to a lady! Be careful, 
ma’am!” he begged solicitously. “That chair don’t 
look none too safe. Mind it don’t give way. You’d 
better keep quite still and let me ’elp you up again.” 

He took her hands and tenderly began to haul her 
erect. 

“Upsee-daisy!” he crooned. “Up she comes! There 
you are, ma’am, safe and sound again!” 

Two irreverent youths on the quayside made ribaldry 
of Mr. Clark’s gallant conduct, and two maidens gig¬ 
gled shrill appreciation and encouragement of these im- 
pertient sallies. 

“Hobbledehoys and hussies!” hotly commented Mrs. 
Brockway. 

“Oh, you can’t altogether blame ’em, ma’am!” said 
Mr. Clark tolerantly. “They’re in love with each 
other, I dare say, and no one’s really responsible for 
their be’aviour when they’re in love. Take you and 
me, for instance. If only we could ’ave a nice long 
chat together, I dare say we could both find we’ve been 
labouring under some silly mistake or other in thinking 
things wasn’t as they used to be between us.” 

Mrs. Brockway, discovering that Mr. Clark was still 
holding her hands, disengaged them gently and made 
no answer. 

“I been thinking all the morning as I’d ask you to 
come for a nice, long stroll with me this afternoon. 
Don’t tell me you won’t come,” he begged wistfully. “I 
can believe a lot of things, but I can’t and won’t be¬ 
lieve as you’ve got a ’eart as ’ard as that, ma’am.” 

Mrs. Brockway, melting at this appeal, favoured the 
stout mariner with a fond smile. 


THE OLD FIRM 


139 


“No, I could’nt be as crool as that to you? sbe said 
softly. “I’ll come for a walk with you. Which way 
shall we go ?” 

Arm-in-arm they went forth, a pleasing picture of 
old-world deportment. Slowly they left the town be¬ 
hind them and climbed the path which led along the 
warm red cliffs. During this stage of the journey Mr. 
Clark furnished most of the conversation, talking at 
times doggedly, and at times aggrievedly. 

And next they came to a seat crowning a summit and 
overlooking a bay of sparkling blue, and here they 
rested, and now Mrs. Brockway bore her fair share of 
the burden of speech, saying much that was conciliatory 
and a great deal that was trustful. 

At last they rose and returned to the town by a 
devious route, first by a chain of sunken lanes, and next 
by a region of prim new villas. And now Mrs. Brock¬ 
way was gossiping away light-heartedly, with Mr. Clark 
rolling along in heedful contentment at her side, and 
silent save for those artless queries with which he 
stoked her garrulity into maintaining its speed. . . . 

Arrived back at last on the “Jane Gladys,” Mn Clark 
took a playfully-ceremonious departure from his fair 
companion, and repaired with all haste to the fore¬ 
castle. 

Much did he have to impart to his colleagues, and 
immediate delivery was made all the more easy because 
of the absence of Smith. That gentleman, Mr. Clark 
was informed, had spent a full hour dressing himself 
like a howling toff, and could be observed even now, 
with the aid of a telescope, fatuously sauntering up 
and down before the big hotel which sheltered Mis3 
Barton. 

Mr. Clark, therefore, began to reel off his news with 
great celerity and satisfaction. Mr. Horace Dobb, 


140 


THE OLD FIRM 


magisterially sifting the tidings, continually nodded 
his approval of Mr. Clark’s diligence. Mr. Tridge and 
Mr. Lock, thankfully suspending a listless game of 
dominoes, gave their full attention to their shipmate. 

Priority of mention did Mr. Clark give to the pres¬ 
ent relations existing between Mr. Pidgett and his heir, 
as observed by the stewardess. It seemed that the rift 
of incompatibility between sire and son was slowly hut 
certainly widening. Although at first Mr. Pidgett had 
voiced the loudest admiration of Stanley’s behaviour in 
the matter of the midnight marauder at Stridport, his 
enthusiasm had rapidly waned, and he now plainly 
harboured doubts as to the correctness of his son’s ver¬ 
sion of the encounter. More than once, at the dinner- 
table he had gone so far as to express his complete dis¬ 
belief in the detail of the revolver. 

The mention of a lethal weapon in connexion with 
the affair came as a surprise to the forecastle. Mr. 
Dobb ungrudgingly admitted that Stanley had shown 
sharpness of mind in introducing so dramatic an ad¬ 
junct to villainy. But Mr. Tridge thought that Stanley 
ought to have known better than to stretch probabilities 
thus far, and Mr. Lock merely guffawed profanely at 
the notion of the drooping Stanley valiantly knocking 
a revolver out of an assailant’s grasp. Further, Mr. 
Lock raised a certain amount of bickering by saying 
that he would just as soon believe it of old Sam. 

Peace at length restored, Mr. Clark went on to re¬ 
port that their owner’s scepticism was resented by Stan¬ 
ley, mostly by looking pained and dignified and by 
treating his father in an exasperatingly gentlemanly 
manner. Mr. Pidgett, senior, for his part, returned 
blunt criticisms of his son’s appearance and behaviour, 
and twice had been distinctly overheard to say that a 


THE OLD FIRM 


141 


thundering good hiding would do the young nincom¬ 
poop a world of good. 

(“Worth remembering, that,” murmured Mr. Dobb.) 

Mr. Clark, next, was able to tell his hearers that Mrs. 
Pidgett was already aweary of the constricted glories 
of the “Jane Gladys,” and often made mention to her 
spouse of the delights she could derive from a cottage 
in the country, with a nice garden and hens and stout 
posts to take a washing-line. Allowing her fancy to 
run away with her, she would outline a perfect orgy of 
jam-making and fruit-preserving, till Mr. Pidgett, with 
a hasty imprecation at such humble ideals, lighted one 
of his cigars as a corrective to ideas of frugal simplicity 
and strutted away. 

(“Another thing worth remembering,” said Mr. 
Dobb.) “She won’t stand in our way when the time 
comes.” 

Mr. Clark next spoke of Miss Barton. The closest 
eye, according to Mrs. Brockway’s evidence, could not 
detect any advance made by Stanley in her favour. 
She certainly seemed altogether brighter and livelier 
this last fortnight, and had stated that she was thor¬ 
oughly enjoying the cruise. That it was having a tonic 
effect on her was proved, in the opinion of her uncle 
and aunt, by the fact that she had now taken to rising 
very early every day to enjoy the fresh breezes of morn¬ 
ing on deck, and that often she would slip out unper¬ 
ceived at night for a last few moments of open air 
before retiring to rest. 

With regard to Smith, Mrs. Brockway had less to 
communicate, though it appeared that all in the saloon 
liked him, and all were agreed that his sojourn on the 
“Jane Gladys” must be made as agreeable as possible. 
Mrs. Brockway had tried to elicit the reason for this 


142 


THE OLD FIRM 


preferential treatment from Mrs. Pidgett, but tbat lady 
could only tell her tbat it was at Mr. Pidgett’s express 
wish. 

“So there you are!” ended Mr. Clark. “Now you 
knows just ’ow everything is moving. There’s just one 
little thing, though, ’Orace. I sort of ’alf-proposed to 
Mrs. Brockway this afternoon, you’ll see that I don’t 
come to no ’arm, of course ?” 

“Leave it to me,” said Mr. Dobb, with a large ges¬ 
ture. “You’ll be as safe as ’ouses. Don’t worry about 
that. We’ve got far more important things to think 
about first. In fact, I’ve already got a sort of a idea, 
just to be going on with. You know, us being ’ard up 
at present and that sort of thing.” 

“Ah, that ’eadpiece of yours!” breathed Mr. Clark, 
almost with veneration. “Always a-b’iling up and 
a-b’iling up.” 

Mr. Dobb folded his arms on the table, closed his 
eyes, and remained thus for five long minutes. At the 
expiration of that period, a metallic bumping and rat¬ 
tling overhead announced that Stanley had returned 
and, for some reason, entertained animosity towards his 
golfing paraphernalia. 

Horace, thus aroused from cogitation, went up to 
reconnoitre, and found the contents of Stanley’s bag 
carelessly spilled in a semicircle round their owner, 
who had flung himself into a chair in an attitude of the 
sourest melancholy. 

“No, I don’t want any tea!” he snapped in reply to a 
deferential inquiry from Mr. Dobb. “I don’t want 
anything! I’ll have a whole set of new ones to-morrow 
•—a whole bally set!” he announced, spurning the array 
with his toe. “A rotten course, and a lot of crowding, 


THE OLD FIRM 


143 


week-end bounders, and a regular pot-house of a club 
and-” 

Mr. Dobb implied respectful sympathy by a chas¬ 
tened return to the forecastle. 

“Baby’s so cross with all ’is nice toys!” he confided 
to his shipmates. “Oh, ’e is in such a naughty, naughty 
little temper! Looks just as if nobody loved ’im and 
’is skin didn’t fit. ’Pon me word,” he exclaimed with 
an abrupt change of tone, “I do believe—yes, I do be¬ 
lieve—that ’e’s just in the right mood!” 

He nodded at his mystified confederates and went 
back to the scowling Stanley. 

A full ten minutes passed without restoring Horace 
to the forecastle. Then Mr. Clark, cautiously scouting 
to investigate what might be going forward, saw that 
Mr. Dobb was held in close converse with Mr. Pidgett, 
junior. Much of the latter’s vexation of spirit had 
departed from him, and, while he was still preserving 
the high dignity of his caste, he was treating with the 
cook in quite animated a manner. 

And while Mr. Clark was still watching, Stanley 
drew a wad of currency notes from his hip-pocket, and, 
segregating two of them, handed them to Mr. Dobb. 

Mr. Clark forthwith turned and descended, clatter¬ 
ing, from his coign of vantage to the floor of the fore¬ 
castle. 

“Clicked!” he proclaimed ecstatically. “’Orace ’as 
clicked!” 

“How did he do it ?” eagerly inquired Mr. Lock. 

“I dunno! ’Oo cares ’ow ’e done it, so long as ’e 
done it?” returned Mr. Clark, and shut his eyes and 
breathlessly calculated: “Twice twenty is forty, four 
into forty goes ten! that’s ten bob each, ’ooray!” 

Mr. Tridge, glancing at the clock on the wall, began 



144 


THE OLD FIRM 


a brisk lacing of boots, and, within a minute, Mr. Dobb 
rejoined his comrades. 

Triumphantly he waved aloft a pound note. 

“ ’Ere, there was two of ’em!” instantly observed Mr. 
Clark. “I see ’im give ’em to you myself.” 

“And I ’eard you see ’im!” retorted Mr. Dobb. 
“More like a scuttle of coals than a man you sounded. 
I know ’e give me two. I’m keeping one back.” 

“We don’t want no signdikit business, not on a Sun¬ 
day,” hinted Mr. Clark, dissatisfied. 

“I’m keeping one back for the purpose he give me 
both for,” explained Horace. “It’s a little idea I 
thought of, and suggested to him, and ’e fell in with it 
at once. Know what ’e give me the two quid for ? To 
buy a revolver!” 

“Buy a revolver V 9 echoed a questioning chorus. 

“That’s it,” said Horace. “The revolver ’e knocked 
out of the burglar’s hand that night at Stridport!” 

There was a puzzled, searching little pause, and then 
the voice of Mr. Tridge roundly declared that it was 
a very neat, bright, pretty little idea, indeed. 

“Difficult thing, though, ain’t it, to buy a revolver 
on a Sunday night?” commented Mr. Clark, and tben 
smiled happily. “Ought to be a very enjoyable little 
job, though. Just think of all the ’ouses we shall ’ave 
to call in at to make inquiries whether anyone knows 
anyone ’oo’s got one for sale!” 

Without delay they set out on their mission. . . . 

Mr. James Pidgett, coming next morning to his ves¬ 
sel on some question of stores, was diffidently ap¬ 
proached by Mr. Lock. 

“Wonder if you’d mind giving me a word of advice, 
sir?” said Mr. Lock. 


THE OLD FIRM 


145 


The owner, no more able than less exalted people to 
resist an opportunity of furnishing advice, stopped and 
invited Mr. Lock to fire away. 

“And ‘fire away’ is quite the right words, sir,” re¬ 
marked Mr. Lock admiringly. “Very witty, sir, if you 
only knew it. What the French calls ‘Doo-bell on 
tongs / " 

“Never mind what the French calls it,” sharply re¬ 
turned Mr. Pidgett, objecting to linguistic attainments 
in an inferior. ‘Tm a plain Englishman, and English 
is good enough for me. John Blunt—that’s me. What 
is it you want to know ?” 

“Well, sir, it’s a matter of law, or rather, of not 
knowing the law. It’s about a revolver.” 

At once Mr. Pidgett’s gaze travelled to Stanley, who, 
some yards away, was languidly condescending to a 
newspaper. Then, plainly suspecting covert ridicule, 
Mr. Pidgett’s glance rested sharply on Mr. Lock, but 
that pleasant young sailorman’s countenance was as 
guileless and engaging as ever. 

“What revolver?” jerked Mr. Pidgett. 

“One I—I found at Stridport, sir.” 

“Stridport ?” 

“Yessir, in the water, sir, when I was having a bathe, 
sir, the morning of the day we left there.” 

Mr. Pidgett accorded Mr. Lock a protracted stare. 

“Tell me about it,” he ordered. 

“Well, sir, I was bathing, and I see something shin¬ 
ing at the bottom of the water, and-” 

“Wait a bit! Where were you at the time? The 
river side of the ‘Jane Gladys?’ ” 

“No, sir, between her and the quay, sir.” 

“Funny place to bathe,” commented Mr. Pidgett. 

“There was ladies about, sir.” 



146 


THE OLD FIRM 


“Oh!” 

“Yessir. And I see something shining, and I had a 
shot to get it. Four times I had to go down before 
I got it. Almost under the gangway it was, sir.” 

“And it turned out to be a revolver ?” 

“Yessir.” 

“Um-m-m,” remarked Mr. Pidgett slowly, and 
scratched his chin. 

“Of course, sir, at the time I hadn’t heard about 
Mr. Stanley’s burglar having a revolver. Mr. Stanley 
never told us chaps that.” 

“Strange he didn’t mention it while you were all 
chatting together after the affair.” 

“P’r’aps he thought we shouldn’t believe him, sir.” 

“And, pray,” demanded Mr. Pidgett severely, “why 
should he think that ?” 

“Well, sir, that’s for him to explain,” was Mr. Lock’s 
tactful answer. “Just as if we wouldn’t take his word 
for anything he told us!” 

“I should hope so, indeed,” grated Mr. Pidgett. 

“So should I, sir,” serenely agreed Mr. Lock. 

Mr. Pidgett looked again across at his son. Stanley, 
turning over the sheets of his paper, saw that his sire’s 
gaze was on him. Delicately he sighed and came across 
to his father. The expression in his eyes plainly asked, 
“Now what have I done?” 

“Lock’s telling me something about—about a re¬ 
volver,” said Mr. Pidgett awkwardly. 

“I never knew, at the time, that you had first claim 
on it, so to speak, Mr. Stanley, sir,” mentioned Mr. 
Lock. 

“Oh, hang the revolver!” exclaimed Stanley. 
“What’s the good of talking about the beastly thing at 
all!” 


THE OLD FIRM 


147 


“Well, sir, you see, it’s like this. I sold it to Horace 
the same day and-” 

“Do you mean to say that you recovered it—that 
you’ve got it now V 9 exclaimed Stanley. 

“Well, I found a revolver, sir,” said Mr. Lock; 
“found it in the water when I was bathing at Stridport, 
and-” 

Stanley turned to his father with a lofty gesture of 
self-vindication. 

“All right, all right, my boy,” muttered Mr. Pidgett. 
“You needn’t rub it in.” 

“Well, and I sold it to Horace, and now he’s made up 
his mind to sell it somewhere ashore this morning, and 
I’d rather like to know how I should stand if there’s 
any trouble about it, sir,” continued Mr. Lock anx¬ 
iously. “You see, I admit it ain’t my revolver, not 
really. I only found it. By rights, I suppose, it’s Mr. 
Stanley’s, though I didn’t know it when I sold it to 
Horace, and he didn’t know it when he bought it. And 
now suppose the police, or somebody, gets wanting to 
know exactly how he come by it ? I never give it a 
thought before, but-” 

“Where is it V 9 asked Mr. Pidgett. 

“Horace has got it, sir. It’s a very rusty, old-fash¬ 
ioned thing, but he’s cleaned it up and-” 

“All right. Tell him to bring it here to me at once. 
And don’t you worry. We must have that little popgun 
as a family sooveneer, Stan, my boy,” said Mr. Pidgett, 
affectionately and rather shyly, to his son. “We’ll take 
it up to the hotel and show it to your ma and Hora 
and some of the swells staying there. Make ’em stare 
a bit, I’ll lay! And—well, I’m sorry, my boy, I’m 
sorry!” 

“Perhaps now you’ll believe me another time,” said 





148 THE OLD FIRM 

Stanley, and Mr. Pidgett remorsefully promised that 
he would. 

Horace, hurrying up, expectantly exhibited an aged 
and dilapidated firearm. Two minutes later he was 
hack with his worshipping shipmates. 

a Two quid I got to buy it with, and five bob we give 
for it,” he gloated, “and another two quid Pve just sold 
it to his pa for. And, another thing, we’ve bought 
young Stanley without ’aving to pay a penny for ’im.” 

“If ever we feels like repenting and confessing ’ow 

we ’elped ’im cheat his father-” said Mr. Tridge, 

grinning wickedly. “Oh, we’ve got him all right!” 

“Got ’im there!” exulted Mr. Dobb, illustratively 
pressing the tip of his thumb on the table. “And that’s 
another asset to ‘ ’Orace & Co.’!” 


CHAPTEE XIII 


“ ’ A EK at ’im!” indignantly requested Mr. Tridge. 

“More like a fox-terrier dawg than a skipper, 
blessed if ’e ain’t!” 

He jerked his head in the direction of Captain Peter 
Dutt, who, aware that the owner was looking on, 
deemed the occasion a fitting one to furnish an exposi¬ 
tion of his abilities as a disciplinarian. With that ob¬ 
ject, Captain Dutt was investing so simple a procedure 
as the fitting up of an awning with an earnestness and 
urgency far more appropriate to the labours of a fire 
brigade corps at a conflagration next door to a gun¬ 
powder factory. 

Curt orders, blistering comments, and impatient in¬ 
structions issued from the little skipper’s lips in a 
steady sequence. Occasionally he danced on one foot 
and then on the other, swinging his head at delays: fre¬ 
quently he darted forward, emitted withering invective, 
and thrust aside one or other of the crew to show them 
just how their task should be performed. 

The plump Mr. Clark, moist with exertion and re¬ 
sentment, was panting furious things into the canvas 
folds of the awning. Mr. Tridge and Mr. Lock had 
come to the point of scowling openly at their captain. 
Smith, at the wheel, viewed his shipmates with sympa¬ 
thetic amusement, and Mr. Horace Dobb, from the win¬ 
dow of his galley, regarded the scene in shocked amaze¬ 
ment at the skipper’s temerity. 

149 


150 


THE OLD FIRM 


“Talk about militirism!” puffed Mr. Tridge. “A 
regular martionette, that’s what he is!” 

“Come on, Clark! Spryer than that!” bawled the 
skipper. “Wake up, man and look lively! Try and 
get it into that bladder of lard thing you call your ’ead 
that you’ve got to lift that flap around and—No! Not 

like that, you blessed sleepy, moon-faced-! ’Ere, 

let me do it!” 

He dashed to Mr. Clark’s side and began to tug and 
strain at the canvas. 

“I won’t ’ave it!” stated Mr. Clark, hotly, finding 
himself screened from the owner’s notice. “See ? I’ve 
’ad enough and I won’t put up with no more of it!” 

“That’s all right, Sam, old man,” returned the skip¬ 
per, in a completely altered tone. “I don’t mean no 
’arm by it, as well you know. Only Mr. Pidgett expects 
discipline and-” 

“No ’arm be blowed! What was that you said about 
a bladder o’ lard just now ?” 

“Figgerative, Sam,” explained Captain Dutt, un¬ 
easily. 

“Well, you go and be figgerative with other folks! 
I’ve ’ad enough of it, and so I tells you! A-carrying 
on like a den of lions!” complained the stout sailor- 
man. “It ain’t good enough!” 

“We shan’t be more than another five minutes, Sam,” 
soothed the skipper. “Then you can take it easy for a 
bit. After all, we got to keep up appearances, 
and-” 

“We?” queried Mr. Clark. “You can keep up ap¬ 
pearances if you like, but don’t look to me to ’elp you. 
You and your discipline! A pat on the ’ead for you 
from Mr. Pidgett, and ’arsh words for us—that’s what 
it comes to! Besides, talking about bladders of lard 




THE OLD ITEM 


151 


ain't my idea of discipline! So don't say I 'aven't 
warned yon!" 

“You mustn't mind what I says, Sam. It's—it's all 
meant well, declared the skipper, and stepped from 
behind the shelter of the canvas. “There you are, yeh 
putty-thumbed sunset!" he roared. “iXow p'raps you'll 
understand what I mean next time." 

From behind the draping canvas there at once came 
an eerie wail. Then Mr. Clark, rolling his eyes hor¬ 
rifically, stumbled out into full view. 

U Co Oo—Co—Oo!" he ejaculated with rapidity. 
a Yh—Ah—Ah—Oo—Oo—Ah! Wow!" 

^ “^Vhat the dooce are you laughing at?" bawled the 
little skipper. 

“I ain't laughing!" disclaimed Mr. Clark. “It's my 
'eart gone wrong again! That old complaint of mine, 
colic of the 'eart! I did think I'd lost it, but all this 
haetivity and worriting! Oo, it's 'orrible! Oh, dear— 
oh, lor'—oh, deary me!" 

Very carefully he lowered himself to the deck and 
indulged in a prolonged moan. Mr. Tridge and Mr. 
Lock, thankfully seizing a respite, shook their heads 
and loudly reminded each other of the many occasions 
ashore that they had witnessed their comrade in the 
cruel grip of this same ailment. 

( P>etter let him rest awhile in the shade," suggested 
Mr. Pidgett, troubled by this happening. “P'r'ap 3 a 
drop of brandy-" 

Mr. Clark's moanings suddenly acquired a weird 
intensity, and Mr. Pidgett turned and hurried into the 
saloon. Messrs. Tridge and Lock, watching their em¬ 
ployer's receding back, were both obviously struck by 
the same idea at the same moment. For a full second 
they eyed each other in mutual comprehension and 


152 


THE OLD FIRM 


challenge, and then Mr. Tridge produced a com from 
his pocket. It spun momentarily in the air, and Mr. 
Clark’s lamentations covered a curt utterance from Mr. 
Lock. 

“ ’Eads!” announced Mr. Tridge with satisfaction, 
lifting his fingers. “I win!” 

Mr. Pidgett, returning with a decanter and a glass, 
administered restorative to Mr. Clark with such good 
effect that the stout mariner at once remarked that he 
very nearly felt half cured. [Repeating the statement 
with a certain emphasis, he sat up quite expectantly. 

“Ah, you’ll feel quite cured when you’ve had a bit of 
a rest,” said Mr. Pidgett disappointingly. “You chaps 
help him down to his bunk.” 

Mr. Lock and Mr. Tridge, after performing this 
kindly action, returned to the deck and resumed their 
labours with the awning. And presently, in the most 
inexplicable way, Mr. Tridge tripped over a fold of the 
canvas and fell prone on the boards. 

“Playing cirkisses, or what?”’ sneered the skipper 
nastily. 

But Mr. Tridge lay motionless. 

“He hit his head pretty bad on the boards,” re¬ 
marked Mr. Lock. “I saw him. He’s been and gone 
and fainted, that’s what he’s done!” 

tainted?” said Captain Dutt, in honest surprise. 
“I never knew a chap with a ’ead like Tridge’s to faint 
before!” 

“It wasn’t only the bump,” observed Mr. Lock coldly. 
“It was him all being worrited up and chased about 
what made his head unsteady, to start with.” 

“Well, get up a pail o’ water and splash ’is ’ead,” 
directed the skipper. 


THE OLD FIRM 


153 


Mr. Tridge, opening one eye, regarded Captain Dntt 
hatefully. 

“There, Vs coming round already!” exclaimed the 
relieved skipper. “Couldn’t ’ave been much of a 
bump!” 

Mr. Tridge, opening his other eye, gazed blankly 
round him. 

“Where am I?” he asked in piteous accents. He 
found himself being scrutinized by the owner. “Oo, 
my ’ead!” he murmured, and screwed his eyes very 
tight shut again. 

“Most unfortunate!” declared Mr. Pidgett. 

“Poor feller!” sympathetically said Mr. Lock, shak¬ 
ing his head. “Do you feel very bad, Joe ?” 

“Worse than old Sam,” groaned Mr. Tridge. 

“Dear, dear!” exclaimed Mr. Pidgett with concern. 
“Unlucky morning, this is! I’d better go and get him 
something now!” 

Again he repaired to the saloon. Mr. Lock, ever a 
sporting loser, knelt beside his shipmate and patted his 
shoulder. 

“Here we are!” said Mr. Pidgett, bustling back. “A 
nice stiff dose of this’ll soon cure faintness and dizzi¬ 
ness. My missis swears by it!” 

He applied a glass to Mr. Tridge’s eager lips. The 
sufferer after the merest sip spluttered noisily. 

“That ain’t brandy, sir,” he expostulated. 

“Sal-volatile,” explained Mr. Pidgett. “Nothing 
like it for faintness! Here, have another go at it!” 

“Not me, sir,” refused Mr. Tridge. “I don’t be¬ 
lieve in drug-taking. Besides, I’m feeling heaps bet¬ 
ter already.” 

“You better finish it up, Peter Lock,” recommended 


154 


THE OLD FIRM 


the skipper dryly, “in case something ’appens to you 
next.” 

“I ? m all right,” declared Mr. Lock firmly. “I’ll 
just help poor old Joe down below for a hit of a rest, and 
then I’ll come back, and we’ll finish the job.” 

Supporting his unfortunate shipmate, Mr. Lock 
passed down to the forecastle. Five minutes passed 
without his return to duty, and then his face, strangely 
contorted, appeared on a level with the deck. 

“I been and twisted and strained myself, somehow, 
helping them chaps so careful to their bunks,” he ex¬ 
plained. “But there ain’t no need to worry about me. 
I’ll he all right again when I’ve had a hit of a lay- 
down for a hour or two. Don’t you bother about me, 
sir.” His face jerked spasmodically into something 
very like a wink at the skipper. “I can look after my¬ 
self. It ain’t a case for drugs, anyhow!” 

It was about an hour later that Captain Dutt, plainly 
feeling awkward and guilty, came down to see how the 
three unfortunates were progressing. Mr. Tridge, in 
his bunk, stared in hostile silence at the visitor, and 
then turned an offended back to him. Mr. Lock and 
Mr. Clark, seeking solace in a game of cards, folded 
their arms and held their chins aloofly. 

“Well, ’ow are you getting on, boys?” asked Captain 
Dutt. 

To this inquiry no answer was vouchsafed, except 
that Mr. Clark murmured his amazement at the audac¬ 
ity of such a question. 

“Anyway, you all looks much better,” ventured the 
skipper. 

“Grudges us a little ’armless recreation now,” cor¬ 
rected Mr. Clark in hollow tones. 


THE OLD FIRM 


155 


“Only wants a whip to be complete,” mentioned Mr. 
Lock. 

“Besides which cards don’t throw a strain on the 
’eart,” said Mr. Clark. 

“Nor yet on the muscles of the abdominica,” added 
Mr. Lock, with commendable refinement. 

“A lot ’e cares about anyone s annodomicas,” growled 
Mr. Tridge sepulchrally. “Coming down ’ere to—to 
gloat!” 

“Aye, over his victims,” amplified Mr. Lock. 

“ ’Ere, steady on!” requested the skipper, pained. 
“Don’t make me out so bad as all that! I only just 
stepped down to see ’ow you was getting on. There’s 
one or two little jobs waiting and-” 

“There you are!” observed Mr. Tridge plaintively. 
“ ’E’s at it again! Not content with the mischief ’e’s 
done already-” 

“All fuss and fireworks, that’s what ’e is,” sum¬ 
marized Mr. Clark. “Brass buttons on the brain, that’s 
’is disease!” 

“I must say, cap’n, you have altered a lot,” remarked 
Mr. Lock regretfully. “Little did we ever think that 
you’d treat us chaps like this, after all the years we 
served with you before. Quite altered, you have. 
Bullying and roaring at us like that! Taking advan¬ 
tage of your persition, I call it.” 

“There’s no need to talk ’arsh like that, Peter,” said 
the skipper. “You know as well as I do that I don’t 
mean what I says. It’s simply done to himpress the 
howner, as we arranged. ’E seems to expect that kind 
of thing from sailormen, and it’s my dooty to give it 
to ’im. I don’t mean nothing I says when ’e’s about.” 

“Bladders o’ lard is bladders o’ lard, whether you 
means ’em or not,” contended Mr. Clark obstinately. 




156 


THE OLD FIRM 


“We’ve ’ad to speak to you before about your be¬ 
haviour, cap’ll,” said Mr. Tridge severely. 

“Oh, well, if you chaps can’t see a joke-” mut¬ 

tered the skipper somewhat lamely. “All right, I’ll be 
more careful in future,” he promised. “How come on 
up like good chaps-” 

“What, with my ’eart palpitting like it is?” asked 
Mr. Clark in stony surprise. “And poor old Joe there 
practic’ly unconscious, and Peter ’ere in agonies every 
time ’e moves ? What are you thinking about, 
cap’n ?” 

“You’ll be all right,” urged the skipper. “I won’t 
give you no ’ard work to do. I only just want you up 
on deck to show the owner there’s nothing serious. 
He’s—he’s a bit anxious, and he might think it was all 
my fault.” 

“We’ll come up when we feels fit for it,” returned 
Mr. Tridge definitely. “We ain’t in any ’urry to shove 
our ’eads into the lion’s mouth for a second dose.” 

“Besides which, we don’t take too much notice of 
your promises, cap’n,” said Mr. Lock, but with perfect 
civility. “But you ain’t going to have it all your own 
way in future. We’ve got a check on you what we’re 
going to use.” 

“ ’Ave we ?” asked Mr. Clark in surprise. 

“You know, what we was talking about before the 
skipper come down,” replied Mr. Lock, frowning at the 
questioner. 

“Oh, ah, so we ’ave!” said Mr. Clark not too con¬ 
vincingly. 

“What are you going to do?” asked the skipper in 
some trepidation. 

“You’ll see!” promised Mr. Lock darkly. 




THE OLD FIRM 


157 


For some moments Captain Dntt lingered uncom¬ 
fortably, and then, with an assumption of unconcern, 
returned to the deck. 

“ 9 Is turn to worry now,” stated Mr. Tridge with 
satisfaction. “And now Vs gone, Peter, what is our 
plan V 9 

“Blessed if I know,” admitted Lock. “But we ought 
to have one. [We don’t get a moment’s rest from him, 
when the owner’s aboard.” 

“ ’Orace will think of something for us all right,” 
said Mr. Tridge, with every confidence, and forthwith 
settled himself to slumber. 

“Let’s get on with the game,” suggested Mr. Clark 
to Mr. Lock. “That is one blessing of ’aving ’Orace 
about—you don’t ’ave to do any ’ard thinking for 
yourself.” 

Mr. Dobb, presently descending for a brief respite 
from his galley, expressed his full approval of the man¬ 
ner in which his shipmates had acquitted themselves in 
the matter of Captain Dutt’s harassing tactics. Re¬ 
quested by his comrades to furnish them with some 
means of keeping the skipper’s energies within reason¬ 
able bounds for the future, Mr. Dobb contemplatively 
smoked a stub of cigarette, and then asserted that the 
problem was easy of solution. 

“If there was someone else giving orders as well as 
him, we could dodge a lot of work between the two, if 
we handled things proper,” said Horace. “It’s him 
being the only one in authority that keeps him for ever 
on the dance, for one thing. And, for another, he has 
to superintend every job ’imself, so he knows he’s al¬ 
ways responsible, whatever ’appens, and that gets on 
*is nerves.” 


158 


THE OLD FIRM 


“There ought to be a mate on a boat like this,” con¬ 
tended Mr. Lock. 

“I know there ought. And ’e was more than ’alf- 
inclined to ’ave one, you remember, only we persuaded 
’im off of it, when we first agreed to come with ’im,” 
said Mr. Dobb. “We didn’t want no strange mates 
nosing in where we knew our way about.” 

“Well, for the same reason,” argued Mr. Lock, “we 
don’t want one now, just when we’re nicely settled.” 

“Oh, yes, we do!” asserted Mr. Dobb. “Provided 
that ’e’s the right kind of mate. And the one I’m 
thinking of would suit us capital—if only we can ar¬ 
range it.” 

' “ ’Oo are you thinking of ?” asked Mr. Tridge. 

“Mr. Stanley!” said Horace. “ ’Ow’s that, eh ? Mr. 
Stanley as mate on the Mane Gladys’! Didn’t that 
ought to ’elp things a bit ?” 

“ ’Im ?” cried Mr. Clark scornfully. “Why, ’e don’t 
know nothing about the sea, nor nothing else.” 

“All the better for us!” answered Horace. “We 
ought to be able to diddle him all the easier. An’ we 
can soon ’int to him, too, that the skipper’s trying to 
take some of ’is authority away from ’im! That’ll set 
Stanley up on his hind legs! And he’ll be giving us 
orders he’ll ’ave no right to give, just to spite the skip¬ 
per. And he’ll ’ave all the weight of his pa’s authority 

behind ’im, and- Oh, there’ll be some proper fun 

and cross-purposes going on! We ought to have thought 
of this before! Flying in the face of Providence, that’s 
what we’ve been doing!” 

“But do you think it can be managed, ’Orace ?” asked 
Mr. Lock. “Won’t young Stanley think it a bit low 
to be a common mate ?” 

“Remember that revolver ?” asked Mr. Dobb. “Well, 



THE OLD FIRM 


159 


it’s ’is turn to oblige us, and so I shan’t ’esitate to tell 
’im neither, if needs he. You ’ave a shave and clean-up 
after tea, Peter, and you and me will go as a deppyta- 
tion to see the owner and ask him to appoint a mate.” 

Accordingly, that same evening, Mr. Lock and Mr. 
Dobb approached their employer. 

“Begging your pardon, sir,” opened Mr. Dobb, “but 
me and Peter is a deppytation, if you wouldn’t mind 
giving us a minute.” 

Mr. Pidgett nodded brusque permission to continue. 

“Well, sir,” went on Mr. Dobb, “we’re feeling a bit 
sorry for the skipper. We’ve known ’im many, many 
years now, and we know just what ’e’s capable of.” 

“In work, ’Orace means, sir,” interpolated Mr. Lock. 

“If you’ll forgive us saying so, sir, Cap’n Dutt’s get¬ 
ting a bit run down. Too much work and responsi¬ 
bility. It regular stabs our ’earts to see the poor old 
chap so despirit and worried, don’t it, Peter ?” 

“Oh, terrible,” supported Mr. Lock. 

“All nervy and jumpy, ’e’s getting, sir. Dare say 
you’ve noticed it yourself?” 

“He certainly seemed a bit jumpy this morning,” 
agreed the owner. 

“Yes, sir. Well, sir, ’umble shipmates of ’is as we 
are, it goes against the grain to see the poor old gent 
like this. So we ventured to get up this deppytation, 
Out of pure friendliness to him, sir, to ask you if you 
could see your way to easing things a bit for him. He’s 
proud, sir, and ’e’s independent, and ’e wouldn’t thank 
us if he knew we’d approached you like this on his 
be’alf, but——” 

“What do you want me to do ?” asked Mr. Pidgett 
suspiciously. “Get rid of him?” 


160 


THE OLD FIRM 


“Oh, dear me, no sir—far from it!” denied Mr., 
Dobb. “But we was thinking if you could see your way 
to appoint a mate to help ’im-” 

“How, that’s not a bad idea!” conceded Mr. Pidgett, 
very fairly. “Yes, and I should think Smith would be 
the very man for the job. I’ve beeen thinking he ought 

to have- Yes, Smith would be the very man! And 

I dare say he’d like it too.” 

“We wasn’t thinking of Smith, sir,” said Mr. Dobb. 
“We was thinking of someone far more suitable. We 
was hoping you’d make Mr. Stanley mate, sir.” 

“Good gracious!” exclaimed Mr. Pidgett in surprise. 

“We’d like it, sir, and it ’ud give ’im something to 
occupy ’is spare time, sir, and ’e’d learn a lot, too, sir,” 
pointed out Horace. 

“Young Stan as mate, eh?” ruminated the owner. 
“It’s not such a bad notion—blessed if it is! Give him 
something to think about, and smarten him up a bit 
and—I’ve half a mind-” 

He turned and shouted imperatively for Stanley. 

“These chaps want you to be mate of the Mane 
^Gladys’,” his father informed him, as he sauntered up. 

“Oh, hell!” ejaculated Stanley in blank repugnance. 

“We’d very much like to see you as mate, sir,” 
pleaded Mr. Dobb. “You’re just the plucky, dashing 
young gent me and my mates could follow anywhere. 
And modest! Look ’ow modest you was about that re¬ 
volver till the story come out through Peter finding it! 
Ah, we ain’t forgot that, sir.” 

His eye caught and held Stanley’s. 

“Yes, but-” demurred Stanley. 

“Proud of you, that’s what we shall be, sir,” fawned 
Mr. Lock. “When we sees you going along the street, 
all smart and handsome in your peak cap and brass 






THE OLD FIRM 


161 


buttons, we shan’t be able to help pointing you out to 
every one as our mate.” 

Stanley’s lips lost a little of their petulant curve as 
he contemplated this aspect of a mate’s existence. Mr. 
Pidgett, with a pleased gleam in his eyes, said that the 
whole thing had taken him by surprise, but that he 
could think of no objections to the suggestion, beyond 
his son’s ignorance of all matters maritime. 

“It’s a private boat, sir, so that don’t matter,” urged 
Horace. “And Mr. Stanley’s just the sort of young 
gent to get the hang of things very quickly. And I’m 
sure no one could do the ordering about more dignified 
than he could.” 

“It’ll be an experience for him,” said the owner, 
pinching his chin. “And I certainly don’t want Cap¬ 
tain Dutt to have too much strain put on him. And, 
of course, I like to oblige you men when it’s possible. 
. . . Righto,” he determined, “henceforth Mr. Stanley 
here is mate of the Mane Gladys’.” 

The deputation, according a decorous cheer to the 
announcement, returned to the forecastle. 

“Stan, my boy, I had no idea you was so popular,” 
observed the gratified parent. 

“Oh, well-” said Stanley. A shade of thought 

rested on his brow. “I say, pater,” he remarked slowly, 
“I think brass buttons with our crest stamped on ’em 
would be something pretty new, wouldn’t it ? I mean, 
one’s got to tackle a job like this seriously, hasn’t one 
—what ?” 



CHAPTER XIV 


T HE crew of the “Jane Gladys,” rejoicing in the 
deputation’s successful diplomacy, had decided to 
accord Stanley a space of three days in which to accli¬ 
matize himself to the dignity of his new office before 
they began to educate him. 

Long before the close of the second day they had 
taken to looking askance upon him, and by the end of 
the probationary period they had postponed further 
self-congratulation on their choice of a mate. 

A secret convention in the cook’s galley extended 
Stanley’s days of grace to five. On the evening of the 
fifth day the forecastle acrimoniously complained that 
he was getting worse instead of better. However, on 
the grounds that the return swing of the pendulum was 
already overdue, a resolution was passed to allow Stan¬ 
ley’s novitiate to run the full week before any discipli¬ 
nary action be taken. 

On the seventh night Mr. Horace Dobb himself 
frankly admitted that the manoeuvre of providing Cap¬ 
tain Dutt with a mate was by no means to be reckoned 
among their triumphs. 

For Stanley had taken to authority as a keen diver 
takes to ten feet of limpid water, immersing himself 
repeatedly and fully and with relish. That selfsame 
brain which aforetime had seemed to function in but 
languid tricklings beneath Stanley’s sleek hair now 
flowed in fecund gushes. Patent to all was it that he 
possessed no nautical instincts whatever; but equally 
obvious was it that he had a genius for giving orders. 
162 


THE OLD FIRM 


163 


And therefore, at every available moment, Mr. Stan¬ 
ley Pidgett sauntered the deck and invented futile, 
irritating little tasks for the twin pleasure of exercising 
power and knowing that other people were beholding 
him in the act of exercising power. 

His mother always was a proud spectator of his do^ 
ings, though frequently she counselled him against per¬ 
mitting his constitution to be undermined by over great 
zeal for work. His father, too, frequently smoked his 
cigar in silence as he watched him with a valiant, hut 
approving eye. And when Stanley found himself un¬ 
der his sire’s superveillance, he always assumed an 
extra severity and stiffness of manner, an occasionally 
he would glance at the owner, as though to say, “Yes, 
here I am, alert and efficient. How don’t you feel 
awfully humble for all the things you’ve ever said and 
thought about me ? You see I can rise to the occasion, 
when I like.” 

And for Miss Barton, when she appeared on deck, 
he had another look which plainly intimated that he 
considered it really extraordinary that so self-reliant 
and masterful a personality as he possessed should not 
he making faster progress in her favour. 

The crew of the “Jane Gladys,” when they foregath¬ 
ered at the expiration of that devastating week, unani¬ 
mously expressed the opinion that the time had come 
to do something drastic. 

“Worse than the skipper, young Stanley is!” de¬ 
clared Mr. Clark. “Showing off the whole blessed time, 
’e is! When ’e ain’t showing off in front of ’is ma, 
’e’s showing off in front of ’is pa, and when ’e ain’t 
showing off to ’is pa, ’e’s showing off to Miss Barton. 
And if none of ’em ain’t about, ’e’s showing off to 
’isself!” 


164 


THE OLD FIRM 


“I never see sucli a dissatisfied little ’orror,” asserted 
Mr. Tridge. “Talk about the scrubbing and polishing 
Pve bad to do these last few days! It used to be bad 
enough when the skipper’s wife used to come a cruise 
with us in the old days, but she was the manageress of 
a ’Ome of Rest compared to young Stanley up there!” 

“Kid with a new toy,” tersely said Mr. Dobb. 

“Ah! but we ain’t made of clockwork,” pointed out 
Mr. Clark. “There’s no springs in me, ’specially after 
I’d done beeswaxing the saloon floor on me ’ands and 
knees twice over, just so ’e could practise the newest 
dances to the phonygraph if ever ’e ’ad a mind to. ’E 
told me that was why ’e ’ad it done! I didn’t’alf do 
my best to make it as slippery as I could, I give you 
my word! If wishes come true, ’e’ll be wanting all the 
pillows ’e can lay ’ands on soon.” 

“What about me , then?” cried Mr. Tridge. “Pol¬ 
ished all the brasswork till I was fit to fall to bits, and 
then ’e asks me to point out careful to ’im which I’d 
done and which I ’adn’t done; and then, just because 
’is pa’s looking on, ’e tells me to do it all over again and 
not breathe so ’ard on it next time.” 

“He come much the same game with me,” said Mr. 
Lock. “I pretty soon reminded him about that re¬ 
volver.” 

“Well ?” asked Mr. Dobb. 

“He said, very stiff, there was such a thing as con¬ 
spiracy to obtain money by false pretences, but he’d 
overlook it if I didn’t cause him no more trouble.” 

“Well, there’s cheek!” said Mr. Dobb, with evident 
admiration. “I must say he’s got some wits about ’im 
when ’e likes to use ’em. Look what ’appened when 
you chaps tried to get out of doing something the skip- 


THE OLD FIRM 


165 


per ’ad ordered, by getting Stanley to give you a ’ole 
lot of fresh orders.” 

“Yes, ’e give us the fresh orders, right enough,” re¬ 
called Mr. Tridge. “And then when the skipper wanted 
to know why we ’adn’t carried out ’is orders, young 
Stanley interferes. Says ’e didn’t know the skipper 
’ad given us any orders, hut, that being the case, we’re 
to carry ’em out at once, and then do the jobs he’d 
given us. All we got was two sets of orders to carry 
out, and the skipper ’ad the laugh of us proper.” 

“No, young Stanley ain’t going to be no good to us,” 
said Mr. Clark sadly. “It’s a pity we ever—it’s a pity 
you ever thought of the idea, ’Orace.” 

“We’d certainly ’ave got on better if we’d let the 
owner appoint Smith, as he first suggested,” remarked 
Mr. Lock. 

“Ah! and that reminds me,” rejoined Mr. Dobb, 
“he ain’t living up to ’is early promise, to speak poetic.” 

“Getting on for a month ’e’s been with us now, and, 
beyond a few drinks now and then, we’ve ’ad nothing 
from ’im since those five quid apiece,” said Mr. Tridge, 
comprehending. “That ain’t my idea of enterprise.” 

“ ’E ’as a chat with Miss Barton, first thing most 
mornings, and last thing most nights,” said Mr. Clark.* 
“I s’pose that satisfies ’im. And owing to the saloon 
folks thinking ’e’s a nobleman in disguise, ’e’s ’aving 
a easy life of it. Don’t s’pose ’e wants much more.” 

“Well, we do!” stated Mr. Dobb. “In fact, I’ve been 
thinking it’s time we give the panorammer another 
turn for ’im. More than that, I’ve thought out a way 
to do it, too. Jealousy. ’E’s too comfortable, and ’e 
needs waking up a bit.” 

“Get ’im green with jealousy, and ’e’ll be owning up 


166 


THE OLD FIRM 


to ’oo and what ’e is, and offering us all sorts of 
amounts to ’elp ’im in ’is courting/’ prophesied Mr. 
Tridge. 

“All the same,” said Mr. Clark slowly, “this is a red 
’erring! ’Orace ’as only started all this talk about 
Smith to get us off talking about the mistake ’e made 
in persuading the owner to appoint Stanley as mate. 

“You’re sharp, ain’t you ?” asked Mr. Dobb, in evi¬ 
dent chagrin at the plump sailorman’s astuteness. 

“Sharp enough to annoy other people ’oo thinks I 
ain’t sharp, anyway,” retorted Mr. Clark. “I know 
you, ’Orace. I’ve seen you swagger into the saloon 
bar and come out quiet by the tap-room door before 
to-day. You’ve made a ’owling mistake over getting 
young Stanley as mate, and you know it!” 

“You want to wait till the ’ole thing’s finished, and 
then you’ll sing a different tune,” said Mr. Dobb de¬ 
fiantly. 

“I shall ’ave a golden ’arp to accompany meself on, 
then,” derided Mr. Clark. “What’s going to make me 
change my opinion, I’d like to know ?” 

“You’ll see,” promised Mr. Dobb. 

“Oh, no, I shan’t! You’re only making up things to 
try to keep me quiet! The thing’s finished now, and 
you know it!” 

“Finished? It’s only ’alf-begun!” declared Mr. 
Dobb. 

“Well, what’s the rest of it, and why didn’t you tell 
us it at the time?” challenged Mr. Clark. “Answer 
me that, if you can! What’s the rest of it, eh?” 

Mr. Dobb, thus pressed, frowned his displeasure, but 
made no response. 

“There you are!” jeered Mr. Clark. “Caught!” 


THE OLD FIRM 


167 


“I must sa y> if you’ve got a answer for ’im, ’Orace, 
you ought to let ’im ’ave it,” remarked Mr. Tridge. 

“If I don’t give answers it’s because the time to give 
’em ain’t come yet,” replied Mr. Dobb slowly. “I’ve 
got the answer in my ’ead all right, but—but-” 

“Wriggling!” taunted Mr. Clark. 

Very well, you’ll see,” said Mr. Dobb, with a cer¬ 
tain goaded desperation. “I says that getting young 
Stanley as mate is only ’alf a move I’ve got on the 
board. Remember that!” 

“Yes, and then you changes the subject and wants to 
talk about Smith instead. You remember that!” re¬ 
quested Mr. Clark. 

“Well, it’s—it’s-” began Mr. Dobb, and then 

gulped. “It’s Smith as is the rest of the move on the 
board!” 

“Well, tell us ’ow and we’ll believe you!” 

“There’s one or two little bits I’ve got to finish think¬ 
ing out,” said Horace. “Then you’ll see ’oo’s right!” 

Mr. Clark’s frame shook with sardonic laughter, and 
Messrs. Lock and Tridge, who had been intermittently 
looking hopeful, now shook their heads and gazed re¬ 
proachfully at Horace. 

“All right, don’t believe me!” cried Mr. Dobb, af¬ 
fecting high passion, and began to leave the forecastle. 

“There ’e goes!” scoffed Mr. Clark. “Running off 
to try and think desprit ’ard and see if there ain’t some 
way by which ’e can save ’is face!” 

To this the retreating Horace made no response, for 
the absolute truth of Mr. Clark’s charge rendered repar¬ 
tee elusive. 

Gaining the deck, Mr. Dobb hastened to the soli¬ 
tude of his galley, and here he remained till an excruci- 



168 


THE OLD FIRM 


ating headache drove him to the. solace of open air. 
Glimpse of the dim figure of Smith, up m the bows, 
drew him to that gentleman’s side. 

“Hullo!” exclaimed Smith, at Horace’s light foot¬ 
fall. “Oh! it’s you, is it?” he ended, his tone flatten- 
ening from eagerness to disappointment.. . 

“Me it is,” answered Horace. a A nice night. By 
the way, ’oo did you think I was ? 

“Oh, no one!” (( 

“In course not,” agreed Horace humorously. Do 
could you think it could he ? You’d never ’ave dreamed 
it could he a young lady, for instance, could you ? In 
course not!” 

“A young lady? I don’t understand you. 

“Don’t you!” asked Mr. Dobb dryly. “Why, a little 
bird’s been telling me—well, telling me things. 

Smith refrained from seeking explanation. 

“ ’Course, it ain’t my business,” said Mr. Dohh. “I 
don’t know nothing for certain about you nor nobody 
else. But I wish you luck—oh, I wish you luck, right 
enough. Only thing is, you ain’t the only one.” 

“What do you mean ?” exclaimed Smith. 

“There’s others trying to make the running what 
have got far better chances than you.” 

“I know who you mean.” 

“ ’E don’t ’alf try to fascinate ’er,” chuckled Mr. 
Dobb. 

“Confounded young puppy!” 

“Tried to put ’is arm round ’er neck the day before 
yesterday. I see ’im through my galley window.” 
“Infernal cheek!” 

“Ah! and last evening ’e tried to kiss ’er, too! I 
gee ’im.” 

“She never told me that!” 


THE OLD FIRM 


169 


“Oh, I dare say she thought it wasn’t worth mention¬ 
ing.” 

“Not worth mentioning—a thing like that ?” growled 
Smith. 

“Well, I mean, I don’t suppose she wanted to worry 
you about it,” said Mr. Dobb smoothly. “There’s no 
need for you to go saying anything to ’er about it. 
I wouldn’t like ’er to think that anyone was spying on 
’er.” 

“He tried to kiss her, did he ?” rasped Smith fiercely. 

“ ’E did, but she give ’im the slip very neat.” 

“Thundering little bounder! I’d like to kiss him! 
Of all the confounded cheek. I’ve half a mind to clout 
his silly head for him!” 

“Don’t you try that!” advised Mr. Dobb. “That ’ud 
be mutiny. It would be pretty serious for you.” 

“I’d give anything to have him stand up to me for 
just one round!” yearned Smith. 

“What would you give exactly ?” inquired Mr. Dobb, 
his commercial instincts automatically asserting them¬ 
selves. 

“Five pounds!” 

“Do you mean it?” 

“I do! It would be worth it!” 

“I wish I could arrange it,” said Mr. Dobb fervently. 
“But there ain’t no way I can think of. Wait a bit!” 

He turned sharply and made a shambling circuit of 
the deck. An old shred of sea-lore had rustled in his 
memory, and he had pounced on it, and was bearing it 
off for undisturbed examination. 

“ ’Ere, ’ow would you like to be mate of this boat ? ’ 
he asked, returning in excitement to Smith’s side. 

“Oh, I don’t know! I’m pretty comfortable as I 
am.” 


170 


THE OLD FIRM 


“If you was mate you’d ’ave a lot more chances to— 
well, being a ordinary seaman you ain’t allowed aft. 
Mates is. If you was mate many’s the opportunity 
you’d get to slip a few words down the back of ’er 
neck in a whisper, while you was passing ’er in ’er 
chair,” explained Mr. Dobb. 

“Why, so I could!” agreed Smith. “By Jove, so I 
could. Besides, they could hardly object to the mate 
talking to her, now and then, in a civil, respectful way, 
could they ? Oh, but what’s the good ? I’m not in the 
least likely to be made mate. That confounded young 
puppy is mate already, and he’s scarcely likely to resign 
in my favour.” 

“Don’t you ever think a thing impossible till you’ve 
tried it,” recommended Mr. Dobb. “I shouldn’t be at 

all surprised if- What would you give to be made 

mate?” he ended bluntly. 

“Five pounds!” 

Mr. Dobb, charmed by this penchant of Smith’s for 
bidding in terms of five pounds, stated his gleeful con¬ 
viction that his new shipmate was a sport, a true gent, 
and a real toff. 

In the firmament so recently obscured by baffling 
mists Horace now saw the star of hope flaming bril¬ 
liantly. Calling softly down to the forecastle, he sum¬ 
moned the sceptical Mr. Clark on deck and led him to 
Smith. 

“ ’E’s promised us ten pounds on certain conditions,” 
announced Horace to Mr. Clark. 

The plump sailorman seized Smith’s hand and wrung 
it. 

“I ain’t going to explain everything, not even now, 
Sam,” said Mr. Dobb. “I’m just giving you an inkling 
of what’s coming, so you won’t go showing your ignor- 



THE OLD FIRM 


171 


ance so silly again in a ’urry. Smith ’ere, for reasons 
best known to me and ’im alone, ’as got a grudge against 
young Mr. Stanley, and ’e wants to fight it out with ’im 
with fists, all legal and proper. If that comes off 
there’s a fiver for us.” 

“Ho, I see!” returned Mr. Clark, dashed. “It’s one 
of them ‘if’ things.” 

“Yes, and there’s another five pounds for us if ’e 
gets made mate instead of Stanley.” 

“And that’s another blessed ‘if’ thing,” commented 
Mr. Clark coldly. “ ’Ave you ’atched out any more, 
or am I supposed to apologize to you now at once ?” 

“Call ’em ‘if’ things, if you like,” returned Horace, 
“but don’t forget I’m the sort of man what crosses out 
the word ‘if’ with one stroke of me pen whenever I 
comes to it. Mark my words, Smith’s as good as mate 
already, if we plays our cards right.” 

“Aye. ‘If V ” sneered Mr. Clark. 


CHAPTER XV 


T HE “Jane Gladys” lay in the wide estuary between 
the twin towns of Plynhampton and Shotsey, as 
conspicnons there as an albino baker at a convention of 
negro chimney sweeps. 

Once again had Mr. James Pidgett succumbed to a 
desire to swoop unheralded on his London works to 
observe the activities of the staff in their moments of 
fancied security. To conduct this research he had left 
the “Jane Gladys” that morning, almost as soon as he£ 
anchor had splashed into the water. 

It was Mr. Peter Lock who had sculled him ashore. 
A request made by Stanley to his father, as the latter 
began to descend into the ship’s boat, had met with a 
curt, decided refusal which had not escaped the atten¬ 
tive oarsman’s notice. 

Returned from transport duty, Mr. Lock did not 
delay a moment in going to the galley to supply a report 
to headquarters. Arrived at Mr. Dobb’s domain, how¬ 
ever, a little natural hesitation overcame Mr. Lock, for 
Horace was not there, and the only occupant was Mrs. 
Pidgett, who was quite tenderly polishing a metal tray. 

“I beg pardon, ma’am,” said Mr. Lock. “I didn’t 
think you’d be here.” 

“I was just,”—breathed the owner’s wife guiltily— 
“I was just-” 

“Ah! I see you see ’Orace ain’t got time for every¬ 
thing, ma’am,” remarked Mr. Lock with excellent tact. 
“Very kind of you to try to give him a hand. There’s 
172 


THE OLD FIRM 


173 


many ladies would think it beneath them to touch any¬ 
thing what looked like work.” 

“Why, there’s nothing I like better than-” began 

Mrs. Pidgett, and checked herself. “I don’t really 
mind this sort of work,” she said. 

“Don’t you, ma’am ?” asked Mr. Lock in polite sur¬ 
prise. 

“I like it,” she asserted, looking a little defiant. 

“Oh, as a hobby, of course!” conceded Mr. Lock. 
“Well, there’s ladies had stranger hobbies than that. I 
once knew a real, tip-top lady who gave lectures on 
teetotalism.” 

“Just fancy!” returned Mrs. Pidgett, evidencing 
interest in the topic. “Well, I’d rather spend my time 
in a kitchen, any day. As a—a ’obby, of course,” she 
thought it necessary to explain. 

“Of course, ma’am,” accepted Mr. Lock. 

“I wish I had—I wish I had the chance of doing a 
bit more in here, sometimes,” confessed Mrs. Pidgett, 
bending her head lower over the tray. “I must say I 
find time hangs a bit heavy, now and then. A ship’s 
different to a house. In a house you can slip off to 
some quiet corner and find something to occupy your 
mind with. But it isn’t so easy to be private, to your¬ 
self, on a ship. And then, again, Mr. Pidgett don’t 
like it. You see, he’s never had a kitchen of his own, 
i§o to speak.” 

She sighed, and rubbed vigorously at the tray. 

“One misses it,” she added. “One can’t help missing 
it, after you’ve been used to it so long.” 

Mr. Lock nodded sympathetically. 

“Sometimes I long to give the place a thorough turn 
out and tidy up, whether it needs it or not,” she said, 
looking wistfully round the galley. 



174 


THE OLD FIRM 


“You ought to have a real good go-in at it, while 
you’ve got the chance, ma’am,” advised Mr. Lock. 

“I wish I could! Only-” 

“Easy enough, ma’am / 7 declared Mr. Lock. “Mr. 
Pidgett’s away, and I don’t suppose we shall see much 
of Mr. Stanley while we’re lying here. And I’m sure 
Miss Barton wouldn’t say nothing, nor Mrs. Brockway, 
nor Captain Dutt, either. Why, you could put in a 
whole day, if you like, cooking and all!” 

“But—hut the men-” demurred Mrs. Pidgett. 

“Easy enough to get rid of them, ma’am,” said Mr. 
Lock softly. “You’ve only got to tell the skipper to give 
’em a whole day’s holiday ashore to-morrow, and that’ll 
be quite all right.” 

“Do you really think so ?” 

“Sure of it, ma’am. Particularly if they had a hob 
or two to spend,” returned Mr. Lock even more softly. 

There was a protracted pause while habit fought a 
battle with desire in Mrs. Pidgett’s breast. At length 
her hand went slowly down to the pocket of her dress. 

“Here’s a pound note,” she said. “That’ll be four 
shillings each for the five of you. Don’t waste it. And 
I’ll see Captain Dutt myself, and get a day’s holiday 
for you all to-morrow. And you must promise to keep 
all your friends out of the way, without telling them 
why.” 

“That’ll be all right, ma’am.” 

“I shall have a high old time!” declared Mrs. Pid¬ 
gett, already looking round the galley with an eager 
gaze. 

“Regular home from home, ma’am,” he assured her. 

“Yes,” she agreed, and suddenly smiled quite mis¬ 
chievously. “And, after all, Mr. Pidgett’s always com¬ 
plaining that I don’t spend any money on myself!” 




THE OLD FIRM 


17 5 


Excited, and more than a little flustered by her own 
daring, she finished her task with feverish energy and 
then took her departure. 

Left alone, Mr. Lock somewhat disparagingly ex¬ 
amined the note in his hand. 

“Only a quid,” he muttered. “That ain’t much. I 
do hope I ain’t losing my dash. Horace will have some¬ 
thing sarcastical to say, I bet! Oh, well!” he ended 
more cheerfully, “I managed to get it out of a female, 
anyway, so it counts double at least. And then there’s 
the day’s holiday to come.” 

Mr. Dobb, entering at this juncture, noticed what 
Mr. Lock held in his fingers, and at once demanded 
information. So far was he from treating his ship¬ 
mate’s ingenuity with scorn, that he complimented Mr. 
Lock on his presence of mind, and confessed that he, 
himself, had never for a moment regarded Mrs. Pidgett 
as a potential source of income. 

“After all, five bob apiece and a day off ain’t so bad,” 
pointed out Mr. Dobb. “Wait a bit, what am I saying ? 
Five bob apiece ? I mean ten bob apiece!” 

“Ten bob?” questioned Mr. Lock. “How do you 

make that out. There’s five of us and- Oh, I see, 

you mean just us two and say nothing to the others ?” 

“Ho, I don’t, Peter, and I’m surprised you should 
think of a mean thing like that!” replied Mr. Dobb 
virtuously. “Just as if Mrs. Pidgett wouldn’t spoil 
everything by mentioning what she give you to Sam 
and Joe some time or other! Honesty is always the 
best policy, Peter, when you’re likely to be found out 
in the end.” 

“Well, then, how do you make it ten bob each ?” 

“Why, Smith won’t take ’is share, you can depend on 
that. Like as not, too, ’e’d rather ’ang about the boat 


176 


THE OLD FIRM 


all day for a chance of getting a word or two with Miss 
Barton.” 

“But I promised the old gal we’d all clear out.” 

“I know. But it’s like this, Peter, I got a mind like 
a rat-trap,” vaunted Mr. Dobb. “Take in everything 
at once, I do. If we get a quid from Mrs. Pidgett, and 
another from Smith, that’ll be ten bob each for us four, 
won’t it?” 

“Yes, it will, hut why should Smith-” 

“Because I’m going to put it up to ’im. Don’t you 
think ’e’d willingly pay a quid for the chance of row¬ 
ing about this ’ere ’arbour all day with Miss Barton? 
You leave it to me, Peter! As I says, you’ve done very 
well for a start, hut it needs a practised ’and to turn a 
thing over and make the most of it.” 

Mr. Dobb, having thus reasserted his mental superi¬ 
ority, accepted Mr. Lock’s tributes with modesty, stat¬ 
ing that this newest idea of his was hut a side-line and 
the mere mechanical result of his own peculiar style 
of mind-training. 

“Right you are, I’ll leave it to you,” agreed Mr. 
Lock. “And now I’ll tell you what I came here in 
such a hurry to tell you. It may be useful knowledge, 
and it may not. Young Stanley’s dead broke, and he’s 
asked his father for money, and his father refused him. 
Very short-off, he was! I heard him as he come down 
the side to get into the boat.” 

“Like that, is it?” murmured Mr. Dobb. “Young 
Stanley broke, and us lying here for a couple of days 
or more ? That ought to lead to something, didn’t it ?” 

“So I thought. But what, where, how and when, I 
can’t quite see. Anyway, I thought I’d tell you and 
you’d know what was up.” 

“So the old chap’s cross with ’is blue-eyed angel, eh ?” 



THE OLD FIRM 


177 


mused Mr. Dobb. “I noticed ’e’d been getting a bit im¬ 
patient with ’im this last week. Anyone could see why 
it was. Stanley was losing interest in his job as mate.” 

“Got as slack as anything, thank goodness/’ affirmed 
Mr. Lock. “The novelty’s wore off, quite. He just sits 
about, and don’t take the slightest notice of anything, 
whether he’s in charge or not. As he’s got these last 
few days he’s just the sort of mate I can get on with. 
Even old Sam don’t wish him no harm now. The 
longer young Stanley holds his job the better I shall 
like it. Ah! you and me done right, after all, to choose 
him.” 

“ ’E’s got to go, first chance, for all that,” replied 
Mr. Dobb. “S’pose ’e ’as a relapse into his first kind 
of be’aviour ? We’ll be sorry then that we ever showed 
’im any mercy. Besides, there’s Smith’s ten quid we 
wants to land for the signdikit. Ho, ’e’s got to go and 
—and do you mind leaving me alone for a hour or so, 
Peter, now ? I’ve got a bit of ’ard thinking to do.” 

Quite readily Mr. Lock responded to this appeal by 
quitting the galley at once. A last glance as he passed 
through the door showed him Mr. Dobb, with his arms 
already folded portentously across his chest, staring 
with a terrific frown into vacancy. 

Some while after, Mr. Dobb emerged from seclusion 
and went dubiously towards Mr. Stanley Pidgett, who 
was sulking spectacularly in a chair. 

“Don’t you go near ’im—’e’ll bite!” observed Mr. 
Clark, gleefully intercepting the cook. “ ’E’s ’ard up! 
Mrs. Brockway’s just been telling me. ’E went up to 
’is ma, sort of careless, and told ’er ’e was spent out, 
and asked ’er for some money. And she told ’im she 
never thought of asking ’is pa for some money before 
’e left, and that all she ’ad was a quid note and some 


178 


THE OLD FIRM 


odd coins, and she’s already spent the quid. And when 
’e ’eard that ’e didn’t ’alf let on! Proper offended ’er, 
’e ’as! She said that Vs so rude that she wouldn’t 
’elp ’im, not even if she could! Yes, and warned Cap¬ 
tain Dutt against lending ’im anything either. Give 
’im two and nine, she did, and told ’im ’e ought to 
think ’imself lucky to get that!” 

“When I want you to jabber to me when I’m busy 
I’ll ask you,” said Mr. Dobb, and passed on. 

“And when are you going to happoint a new mate ?” 
jibed the offended Mr. Clark. 

“I’m just going to start making arrangements now,” 
was Mr. Dobb’s answer, and Mr. Clark crowed de¬ 
risively at it. 

Mr. Dobb, reaching Stanley’s side, coughed respect¬ 
fully. Undeterred by the response of a hostile scowl, 
Mr. Dobb plunged into speech. 

“You’d be bound to know a bit about joolry, sir,” he 
remarked, and displayed a small circlet of yellowish 
metal. “This ring, for instance, sir. I ’ad it given to 
me, and what it’s worth is more than I can guess. 
What do you reckon it ought to be worth, sir ?” 

“I’m not a bally pawnbroker,” said Stanley petu¬ 
lantly. 

“Par from it, sir,” agreed Mr. Dobb. “But it’s a 
pawnbroker I’ve got to take it to, and I’d just like to 
know before’and whether ’e’s trying to diddle me or 
not.” 

“I’m not interested in your troubles.” 

“After all, sir, there’s no real ’arm in going to a 
pawnbroker, is there, sir?” remarked Mr. Dobb with 
undiscouraged loquacity. “ ‘Evil be to them what evil 
thinks’ is ’ow I always looks at it. What I mean to say 
is, if a man’s ’ard up ’e’s got to do the best ’e can for 
’isself, ain’t ’e ?” 


THE OLD FIRM 


179 


Stanley shifted in his seat, and eyed Mr. Dobb with 
some suspicion. 

“So, me being as ’ard up as I jolly well can be,” 
continued Mr. Dobb very naively, “I don’t think no 
shame of going to a pawnbroker with this ’ere ring. 
After all, we shall be coming back this way sometime, 
and then I may be flusher, and I can get me ring back, 
and no one’ll be any the wiser.” 

“Ah, y-yes,” said Stanley slowly. 

“No fun being ’ard up in a place like Plynhampton 
or Shotsey,” observed Mr. Dobb. “There’s all sorts of 
fun you can ’ave there, if only you’ve got the money.” 

“Lively sort of places, eh ?” 

“Needn’t ’ave a dull moment, sir, while you’ve got 
a penny in your pocket.” 

“Just my bally luck!” growled Stanley. 

“I reckon it ought to fetch at least ’alf a crown, don’t 
you, sir ?” asked Mr. Dobb, striving to make a stone in 
his ring glint in the sunlight. “Anyway, I’ll ’ope for 
the best. I know just the right sort of nice, quiet little 
shop where they won’t ask too many questions, and I’m 
going down there soon as ever I’ve ’ad a shave. Noth¬ 
ing I can do for you up-town, I suppose, sir ? I mean, 
in the way of fetching noospapers or posting letters or 
so on?” 

Stanley shook his head, and Horace repaired below 
to the forecastle to occupy himself awhile with his 
razor. Lock, despatched on scouting duty, returned 
with the report that Stanley had, at any rate, ceased to 
throw himself fretfully about in his chair. 

The amenities of shore-going toilet duly achieved, 
Mr. Dobb went on deck, whistling cheerfully. 

“I’m just off, sir,” said he to Stanley. “Now are 
you quite sure there’s nothing I can get or do for you 
in Plynhampton, sir?” 


180 


THE OLD FIRM 


Stanley glanced quickly around him and beckoned to 
the cook. “Wait a bit,” he said. “I—I’m not quite 
sure. Can you—can you keep a secret—what 2” 

“Like a hoyster!” asseverated Mr. Dobb. 

“Well, then, just wait here a moment.” 

Stanley rose, made a great to-do of yawning, and 
went to his cabin. Mr. Dobb, straining his ears, caught 
the sounds of drawers being pulled open and hanged 
shut. 

A brief silence followed, and then something fell and 
smashed noisily. Immediately on this, the voice of 
Stanley was raised in loud and incoherent song, as 
though to smother any suspicion that anything unusual 
might he astir. And finally, the splendid youth reap¬ 
peared at his cabin door. He displayed to Horace’s 
notice a small and singularly inexpert parcel, and, at 
the same time, did his best to wink conspicuously and 
yet with perfect dignity. 

“Here you are l” he said. “I want you to take these 
with you. Ask ’em to press ’em for you, and send ’em 
hack on to me as soon as possible.” 

“I understand, sir,” replied Horace, taking the pack¬ 
age. 

“For goodness’ sake, don’t rattle it!” exhorted Stan¬ 
ley in a whisper. “I’m not good at parcels. It’s a lot 
of silver-mounted clutter out of the dressing-case the 
mater gave me. Ho bally use, really. Get what you 
can on ’em where you take your ring. And mind you 
don’t tell a soul!” 

“Hot a single, solitary soul, sir,” promised Horace, 
and straightway lowered himself into the boat. 

He returned in under an hour, and privily handed a 
small square of pasteboard and the sum of four pounds 
to Stanley. He mentioned that even the pawnbroker 


THE OLD FIRM 


181 


had remarked on the excellent taste and massive purity 
of the goods, and added regretfully that he—Horace 
Dobb—had never had a mother. Then, after accepting 
a small monetary solatium from the enlivened Stanley, 
the cook returned to the society of Mr. Lock. 

“So far, so good, Peter, my lad!” proclaimed Mr. 
Dobb. “The first hact is just over, and the dashing 
young ’ero is already in the machi-whats-is-name’s of 
the crafty villain.” 

“Masheeniations,” supplied the erudite Mr. Lock. 

“It’s a hundred to one that Stanley’ll be wanting 
you to take ’im ashore in a few minutes,” continued 
the cook. “And then it will be your job to keep a very 
close eye on ’im, and find out ’ow ’e squanders ’is ’ard- 
earned bottle-tops and what-nots. There’s no good in 
putting a rope round a thing unless you’re going to tie 
the knot pretty tight.” 

Five minutes proved the talents of Mr. Dobb as a 
prophet, for Mr. Lock was summoned to convey Stan¬ 
ley to the pier. 

“Don’t come back till you can ’elp it,” instructed 
Mr. Dobb. “You can easy make out to the skipper that 
you thought you ’ad to stand-by to bring Mr. Stanley 
back again. Once you’re ashore you stay ashore, and 
follow Stanley everywhere. If ’e should ’appen to 
catch sight of you, go straight up to ’im and tell ’im 
you was trying ’ard to find ’im to ask whether ’e wanted 
you to wait for ’im or not.” 

It was not till late in the afternoon that Mr. Lock 
at length returned to the “Jane Gladys.” He returned 
alone, and was weary, though well content with the re¬ 
sult of his labours. 

He had, it transpired, craftily shadowed Mr. Stan¬ 
ley Pidgett from the time that he had set him down 


182 


THE OLD FIRM 


at the pier-steps to the hour that a forfeited dinner 
had compelled him to put the demands of appetite 
before anything else and return to his tea. 

Mr. Stanley, stated the amateur detective, had thor¬ 
oughly enjoyed himself ashore, according to his lights. 
He had spent a full hour in magnificent patrol of the 
pier, beheld and yet not beholding, floating gracefully 
about among the promenaders, but with so exclusive 
a deportment that almost one might imagine that he 
could not be aware of the throng that moved around 
him. 

And then Mr. Stanley had lunched at an hotel on 
the sea-front, and had sunned himself on the steps for 
a half-hour after that, and next had bought cigarettes 
at a shop opposite the pier. 

It had been a lengthy business, this purchase of 
cigarettes. Indeed, three separate times had Mr. Lock 
passed the open shop-door, and on each occasion Stan¬ 
ley’s head had still been inclined over the counter with 
the assistant. 

“A gal ?” demanded Mr. Dobb hopefully. 

“A gal, of course,” confirmed Mr. Lock. “And he 
wasn’t half showing off to her neither! A saucy boy, 
that’s what he was being! I couldn’t see his face, but 
I know he was making goo-goo eyes at her face from 
the way his ears was flapping.” 

“Thank goodness!” breathed Dobb. “Just what’s 
wanted.” 

“Well, and when he comes out, ever so long after, he 
was looking backward and still smiling and waving his 
hand. Tripped over the doormat, he did, and got into 
a fmycasses - ■’ 

“A whatV 9 asked Mr. Dobb. 



THE OLD FIRM 


183 


“A quarrel, then, with an old gent he’d barged into. 
And after it was over he went back to the pier, very 
haughty, for a bit, and then he went and swaggered up 
and down the sea-wall for a half-hour, like as if he’d 
bought it. And then blessed if he didn’t go back to the 
cigarette shop again! And that’s where I left him 
when I come over hungry.” 

“We’ll ’ave a look-in at that shop this evening, 
Peter, before it shuts, when we all goes ashore,” de¬ 
creed Mr. Dobb. 

And so it came about that, a couple of hours later, 
an attractive young damsel behind the counter of one 
of Plynhampton’s smartest tobacconists’ shops found 
herself greatly entertained by the simple humours of 
four sailormen. 

One of them was plump and elderly, and he pro¬ 
fessed the pleasantry of having fallen violently in love 
at first sight with the young lady assistant. His three 
companions, begging her not to take old Sam too seri¬ 
ously, convulsed her with stories of that worthy’s im¬ 
petuous courtships at other ports. 

“Don’t you take no notice of them, missie,” begged 
Mr. Clark. “Jealous, that’s what they are! They 
don’t like to see you smiling at me so kind out of them 
lovely big, round blue eyes of yours. ’Andsomest eyes 
I ever see!” he declared raptly. 

“That’s just what you used to say to that gal in 
Stridport, Sam!” taunted Mr. Tridge. 

“I didn’t!” declared Mr. Clark. “ ’Er’s was brown 
eyes.” 

“Bit forward of you, I reckon, to talk like that to 
the young lady when you don’t even know ’er name,” 
observed Horace. 


184 


THE OLD FIRM 


“It's a lovely name, whatever it is,” said Mr. Clark 
gallantly. “From the look of ’er,” he hazarded, “I 
should say it was Eupheemy.” 

The young lady squealed in amusement at this sug¬ 
gestion. 

“That’s a bad guess,” observed Mr. Lock. “Flow I 
wouldn’t mind betting a tanner that it’s a name like 
Rose—you know, some flower or other.” 

“I’ll bet a tanner it ain’t,” said Mr. Dobb. “I’ll bet 
it’s either Ethel or Mary.” 

“Done!” snapped Mr. Lock. “And the young lady 
herself shall decide which of us is right. Wait a bit, 
though, suppose we’re both wrong? Who gets the 
money then ?” 

“Old Sam shall take it, blessed if he don’t!” cried 
Mr. Dobb in high good humour. “Just as a sort of 
consolation.” 

“Agreed!” said Mr. Lock. “Now, miss, which of 
us is right? Is it the name of a flower, or Ethel or 
Mary ?” 

“You’re neither of you right!” returned the young 
lady with a certain malicious satisfaction. “And the 
money goes to this nice old gentleman here.” 

Mr. Clark was gleefully expressing his gratification 
when Mr. Lock interruped to remark that it w r as all 
very well, but he would want to be quite sure he was 
wrong before he paid up. 

“But you are wrong,” asserted the damsel. “Quite 
wrong. My name’s Hilda, so there!” 

“Hilda, eh?” said Mr. Dobb. “Righto, Sam, that’s 
a tanner me and Peter each owes you. I wonder you 
don’t offer to take the young lady to the pickchers on 
your winnings.” 

“Just what I’m a-going to do. Will you do me the 


THE OLD FIRM 


185 


honour of coming along with me, missie?” asked Mr. 
Clark. 

“Fm afraid I can’t,” smiled the girl. “I’ve got an 
appointment already. I’m going to the theatre.” 

“Well, to-morrow night, then?” pressed Mr. Clark. 

“Going to the second show at the Hippodrome.” 

“Well, I don’t bear ’im no ill will,” said Mr. Clark. 
“ ’E’s a lucky young man, ’ooever ’e is.” 

“How then, Mister Cheeky,” chided the girl 
roguishly. “Who told you it was a young gentleman ?” 

“Guessed as much,” said Mr. Clark gloomily. 

“That’s enough, Sam,” said Mr. Dobb with inten¬ 
tional ambiguity, and began to marshal his forces 
towards the door. 

Mr. Clark, sustaining the role of unsuccessful suitor, 
was the last of the party to leave, quitting the premises 
with a dejected mien which caused fresh paroxysms 
of mirth in the young lady. Ho sooner was Mr. Clark 
outside, however, than he, too. succumbed to mirth, al¬ 
beit of a quieter character. 

“Name of ’Ilda,” he chuckled; “and she’s going to 
the theatre this evening, and the ’Ippodrome to-morrow 
evening. How all we’ve got to do is to split up and 
watch the hentrances when the doors open, and if we 
don’t see ’er sailing in, arm-in-arm with young Mr. 
Stanley, I’ll—I’ll turn teetotaller!” 

An hour later the four sailormen entered the near¬ 
est hostelry to the theatre. Mr. Samuel Clark’s order 
was for a pint of old ale. 


CHAPTER XVI 


M R. HORACE DOBB, after a little preliminary 
conversation next morning with Smith, went 
over and spoke to Mr. Lock. Mr. Lock, nodding un- 
derstandingly, went up on deck and, assuming a 
baffled look, approached Mrs. Pidgett. 

“It’s a bit awkward, ma’am,” he said. “IJs chaps is 
all getting ready to have a jolly day ashore, and now 
Smith says he don’t want to go.” 

“Oh, but I’d rather have him out of the way than 
anybody else,” returned Mrs. Pidgett. “My husband’s 
most particular what we says and does in front of him. 
He seems to think Smith is quite a gentleman, and he 
don’t like us to—to do any thing at all odd in front of 
him.” 

“Well, what I’ve been thinking, ma’am, is that, if he 
don’t want a holiday, why not make him do some 
work ?” 

“But—but I want him out of the way. You prom¬ 
ised me-” 

“Sort of kill two birds with one stone, ma’am, is 
what I was thinking of. If Miss Barton was to go 
off somewhere, she wouldn’t be likely to say something 
awkward, perhaps, in front of Mr. Pidgett by accident 
about how you’ve been spending your time. How, how 
would it be if you was to suggest to her that she might 
be taken for a nice long row round the bay this morn¬ 
ing, and, perhaps, another nice row out to the cape this 
afternoon? The water’s as smooth as glass, and she’d 
186 


THE OLD FIRM 


187 


enjoy it. And yon could tell Captain Dntt to tell 
Smith to row the boat. That would get ’em both out 
of the way, wouldn’t it, ma’am?” 

“That’s a splendid idea!” approved Mrs. Pidgett 
gratefully. “And she could have Mrs. Brockway as a 
chaperon.” 

“So she could, ma’am,” agreed Mr. Lock rather 
flatly. 

“You might tell Smith to get the boat ready,” said 
Mrs. Pidgett. “And I’ll go and see Mrs. Brockway 
and Miss Barton.” 

Mr. Lock returned dubiously to Horace and faith¬ 
fully reported the conversation to him. Mr. Dobb, in 
no wise disconcerted by mention of Mrs. Brockway, 
turned at once to Mr. Clark. 

“Hip up on deck and see your little sweet’eart,” he 
directed. “Tell ’er you’ve got the day off, and make 
an appointment with ’er on Plynhampton pier in an 
hour’s time.” 

“Ho fear!” returned Mr. Clark very positively. 

“Make it,” instructed Mr. Dobb. “You needn’t 
keep it, need you ?” 

On this understanding Mr. Clark willingly complied 
with his leader’s behest. Hastening on deck he was 
able to whisper a few imploring words to the stewardess 
before Mrs. Pidgett claimed her attention, so that the 
latter lady learned that Mrs. Brockway was of those 
who never could trust themselves to a small boat for 
more than the shortest while, and also that Mrs. Brock¬ 
way had shopping to do ashore and purposed to devote 
the greater part of the day to it, if Mrs. Pidgett did 
not mind. 

Miss Barton, who had cautiously inquired the iden¬ 
tity of the oarsman allotted to her programme, had 


188 


THE OLD FIRM 


professed the greatest pleasure in the prospect of the 
trip, and was already waiting to enter the boat at the 
earliest possible moment. Her aunt, doubly reluctant 
to disappoint her, said that she supposed the absence of 
a chaperon did not matter in a locality so well pro¬ 
vided with telescopes. 

So that presently Smith, after another short private 
colloquy with Horace, began to propel Miss Barton 
across the estuary. Singularly wooden was the expres¬ 
sion on his face, and such of the young lady’s counte¬ 
nance as could he glimpsed beneath her open sunshade 
was marked by a keen interest in everything around 
her, with the exception of the boatman. 

And Horace, descending to the forecastle, there 
gloated over a one pound note and his own cleverness 
till at last his shipmates were fully rallied for their 
holiday ashore. In the second of the ship’s boats they 
set off to Plynhampton, with Mr. Clark affectionately 
waving to Mrs. Brockway from the stern, and shouting 
that he would infallibly remember to send a ferryman 
to fetch her in half an hour’s time. 

Of the gay, robustious doings of the quartet ashore 
that morning in Plynhampton’s fashionable streets it 
is superfluous here to write. That their afternoon 
was snug and happy, though rather quieter, one need J 
merely record and pass on. That early evening found 
them alert and revivified should he too obvious a state¬ 
ment to call for chronicle. 

Hine o’clock that same night found them preparing 
to enjoy the last really free and untrammelled hour 
of their holiday. Since nightfall they had done their 
best to add to the gaiety of the town. To select audi¬ 
ences had Mr. Lock performed marvels of bird-mimi- 


THE OLD FIRM 


189 


cry, exploited card tricks, and propounded diverting 
riddles, while Mr. Tridge had sung many songs in his 
own dogged and stoic style. Mr. Clark had exhibited 
prodigies of activity in varied forms of dancing. Mr. 
Horace Dobb, in addition to acting as leader of the 
claque which rewarded his friends’ exertions, also as¬ 
sumed the direction of the programme and the duty of 
promoting liberality among the company whenever the 
glasses of the talented amateurs chanced to be empty. 

But suddenly Mr. Dobb ejaculated alarmedly, and 
cut across the harmony of the evening by declaring that 
he had got to buy a post card. Mr. Tridge, who was 
grimly trolling forth a sentimental ballad, stopped 
indignantly to ask what Mr. Dobb wanted a post card 
for. 

“Why, to post,” explained Horace. “A nice, pretty, 
romantical picture post card to send to a young gent.” 

Mr. Tridge, treating this remark as a mere aberra¬ 
tion, allowed his voice to roar and languish again in 
melody; but Mr. Dobb, rising, went out of the tap-room 
with an air of fixed purpose, and the simple loyalty of 
Mr. Lock and Mr. Clark impelled them to follow him. 

Mr. Tridge, after a moment of sour indecision, set 
off in pursuit of his shipmates. 

“What’s the game?” he demanded, catching up to 
them. “Did someone come in ’oo knows us too well, or 
what ?” 

“I got to buy a picture post card,” said Horace 
firmly. 

“What for ?” again inquired Mr. Tridge. 

Mr. Dobb tapped his temple very significantly with 
his forefinger, and regarded Mr. Tridge with owlish 
gravity. 


190 


THE OLD FIRM 


“What does ’e want a post card for?” asked Mr. 
Tridge, turning to Mr. Lock. “What does ’e want one 
for r 

“I dunno,” admitted Mr. Lock. “But if he comes 
out of a place before closing time to get a post card, you 
can reckon he wants one pretty bad!” 

“Finishing touch,” mentioned Mr. Dobb, with an 
airy wave of his arm. “Last straw. Just remembered 
it.” 

He strode on at the head of his shipmates, ranging 
the quiet streets for a suitable shop. Once, deceived 
by a glimmer of light in a window, he knocked at the 
door for admittance, only to be driven off by a green¬ 
grocer who did not include picture post cards among 
his stock and said so, repeatedly and with great heat. 
And once Mr. Dobb, beginning to despair, sought use¬ 
ful information from a police constable, and was given 
the stern, but unhelpful, advice to go straight back to 
his ship, and not to make such a noise about it either. 

Almost tearful was Mr. Dobb when at length the 
search party came on a small newsagent’s shop where 
the door was still open because the shirt-sleeved young 
proprietor was taking the air on the step. Him did 
Mr. Dobb greet with cries of joy, fawning upon him 
for the privilege of buying a post card. 

Close and prolonged scrutiny did Mr. Dobb make 
from the array spread before him by the proprietor, 
and it was not till the latter had plainly stated his inten¬ 
tion to lock up the shop straightway that the cook’s 
choice at length fell on a pictorial representation of a 
young couple in amatory embrace beneath a full moon 
and above a legend of affectionate significance. 

“Just the very thing,” crooned Mr. Dobb, and paid 
for the card and carefully stowed it in his pocket. 


THE OLD FIRM 


191 


“Good night, you weak-chinned picture of misery, and 
thank you very much, bless you!” he ended, going 
jubilantly off with his comrades. 

It was not till he was dressing next morning that he 
remembered possession of the card. He examined it 
blankly when he found it in his pocket, and at first 
was inclined to attribute its presence to practical jocu¬ 
larity on the part of his shipmates, till they described 
to him the manner of its purchase. 

“But what did I want one for ?” he mused aloud; 
but a rather severe headache was clouding his intellect 
so that, in the end, he could but shake his head and 
postpone further consideration of the matter. 

Meanwhile Mr. Clark, going apprehensively on deck, 
had at once encountered Mrs. Brockway. To his sur¬ 
prise she began nervously to fold her apron into pleats 
and addressed him in tones apologetic rather than re¬ 
bukeful. 

“I—hope you didn’t wait too long for me on the 
pier yesterday?” she observed. 

“Oh! do you ?” he returned, making time for 
thought. 

“I expect you got very impatient ?” she surmised. 

“PVaps I did, and p’r’aps I didn’t,” he hedged. 

“I wonder if you—I suppose you didn’t see me 
about the town nowhere ?” she asked with some hesita¬ 
tion. 

“P’r’aps I did, and p’r’aps I didn’t,” he said again. 

“Hot that there’s anything for you to be really upset 
about,” said Mrs. Brockway. “After all, he’s my sec¬ 
ond cousin, and it was quite by chance I met him on 
the pier.” 

“Ho!” exclaimed Mr. Clark. “Ho! hindeed?” 

“And—and I got talking to him, and somehow we 


192 


THE OLD FIRM 


sat talking and listening to the band, and—and some¬ 
how I didn’t notice how the time was flying, and when 
I remembered I’d got to meet you, and went to look 
for you, you weren’t to be seen.” 

“I took partic’lar good care of that, ma’am,” said 
Mr. Clark stiffly. 

“There, I thought you’d seen us together! And then 
you went and jumped to conclusions!” 
f “You was walking arm in arm with ’im, ma’am,” 
stated Mr. Clark hardily. “Don’t you deny it!” 

“Well, he’s my second cousin!” she protested. 

“After—after me taking all the trouble of sending 
a ferry-boat to fetch you, too!” 

“I didn’t wait for the ferry, as it happens. There 
was a telegram come from Mr. Pidgett, saying he was 
coming hack this morning, and we was to he ready to 
sail as soon as he come. They brought the telegram in 
a boat, and I went back ashore with the messenger. 
And, anyway, you did ought to give me the chance to 
introduce my cousin to you. I’m sure Alf would have 
been-” 

“Hot another word, ma’am!” exclaimed Mr. Clark. 
“You’re welcome to your Alf! I’ve ’ad my suspicions 
all along and—and yesterday was a trap I set to catch 
you. Hot another word, ma’am! I’ve done with you! 
It’s all your fault—any court of law would say that— 
and I’ve done with you!” 

Mr. Clark, shielding his joyful visage behind his 
palm, turned and went below again. Here he caused 
some ill-feeling by repeatedly clapping Mr. Dobb on 
the back, though, when the stout sailorman explained 
the reason of his transports, Mr. Dobb atoned for his 
churlishness by the heartiness of his congratulations to 
Mr. Clark. 



THE OLD FIRM 


193 


“If this goes on,” said Mr. Dobb, “we shall all be as 
’appy as a nest of little birds in this fo’c’sle. You 
ought to see Smith this morning! 9 E come thumping 
me on the hack because ’e’d ’ad such a enjoyable day 
yesterday. JSTot being a member of the signdikit, it 
cost 9 irn ’alf a crown for me to physic my ’eadache 
presently.” 

“Talking about signdikits and Smith,” said Mr. 
Clark, “are we any nearer getting that ten pound ? Oh, 
it’s all right! I ain’t speaking sarcastic. I couldn’t 
speak sarcastic to a living soul this morning!” 

“Yow I know what that post card was for!” shouted 
Mr. Dobb. “Smith and the signdikit’s funds and the 
rest of it, of course! ’Ere, Sam, get me a pen and 
some ink!” 

“If you’re going to write a letter, you’d better ’urry 
up if you want to post it from ’ere,” counselled Mr. 
Clark. “We sail as soon as ever Mr. Pidgett comes 
back.” 

“All the better. What’s the next port o’ call ?” 

“St. Anthony’s, round the north of Cornwall some- 
wheres. About a three days’ run it ought to be, with 
the wind where it is.” 

Mr. Dobb, rolling up his sleeves, sat down at the 
table and placed the picture post card in front of him. 
Very carefully he indited an address on it in letters in 
imitation of print, following each stroke of his pen 
with a curving movement of his protruded tongue. 

" 'Stanley Pidgett, Hesquire/ 99 read the engrossed 
Mr. Clark over his shipmate’s shoulder. ‘Jane 

Gladys 9 The Post Office, Saint Anthony's, Cornwall . 
To he called for 9 Very nice and readable! Quite har- 
tistic!” 

Mr. Dobb’s pen poised for some while over the space 


194 


THE OLD FIRM 


devoted to the needs of correspondence, and it was only 
when a pendulous drop of ink splashed on to the virgin 
surface that he ceased to delay. 

“ ‘jBest love to my darling; do not forget the brooch 
you 'promised me 999 again read Mr. Clark, aloud. 
" ‘Your sweetheart Hilda 9 My eye!” murmured Mr. 
Clark. “That’s what you might call vinegar and sugar 
mixed!” 

Mr. Dobb blotted the message and then turned the 
card over again to gaze at its pictured aspect of the 
tender passion. 

“ f Love me and the world is mine 9 99 he observed, 
quoting the accompanying printed legend. “Beats 
your conversashion lollipops into a cocked ’at, that 
does, Sam, my boy!” 

“There’s just one thing, though,” said Mr. Clark, 
perplexed. “Did ’e promise ’er a brooch?” 

“Hot so far as I know,” replied Mr. Dobb. 

“Well, then, why put it in if it don’t mean nothing ? 
’E’ll know well enough ’e never promised ’er a brooch.” 

“The card ain’t for ’im,” explained Mr. Dobb. “It’s 
to be sent to ’im, but ’e ain’t to get it. It’s ’is pa it’s 
got to reach, not ’im.” 

“But ’is pa don’t know the young lady.” 

“All part of the plan, Sam,” tolerantly replied Mr. 
Dobb. “You’ll see that it’ll work out all right. First 
of all, don’t forget young Stanley’s popped ’is silver 
knick-knacks. Then remember we see ’im go into the 
theatre with a gal ’ose name we took partic’lar care 
to find out was Hilda. And last night ’e took the same 
gal to the ’Ippodrome. We see ’im go in with ’er, didn’t 
we? And Smith’s promised us ten pounds if ’e gets 
made mate and ’as a scrap with Stanley, ain’t ’e? Very 
well; you remember them few things, and before we’ve 


THE OLD FIRM 


195 


been at St. Anthony’s twenty-four hours you’ll be call¬ 
ing me a ’uman marvel!” 

At midday Mr. Pidgett returned, and the “Jane 
Gladys” sailed soon after, but Mr. Dobb’s card was al¬ 
ready in the post. 


CHAPTER XVII 


T HE “Jane Gladys/’ having rounded the rocky ex¬ 
treme of Cornwall, was sweeping north-eastward 
along the fretted coastline towards the coy, venerable 
little harbour of St. Anthony’s. 

A heavy, restrained atmosphere prevailed aboard the 
vessel, and this was because the temper of the owner 
seemed continually to be condensing into a grey, opaque 
mass. Almost from the hour of quitting Plynhampton 
Bay, three days ago, had a mood of sour melancholy 
settled upon Mr. James Pidgett, tracing a pattern of 
rigid straight lines on his face and giving to his be¬ 
grudged conversation a tone of snarling impatience. 

Old campaigners, such as Mr. Clark and Mr. Tridge 
and Mr. Lock, very wisely kept out of his orbit as far 
as possible, finding satisfaction in the thought that they 
were not of the elect of the saloon and so compelled 
to endure the blighting presence of Mr. Pidgett all day. 
Captain Dutt went about softly, and as it were, on a 
hair-trigger, ready to jump into servile alacrity at the 
first grunting accents of the owner’s voice. Mrs. Pid¬ 
gett had long retired behind a sort of rampart of stiff 
resentment, and Mrs. Brockway was frequently to be 
observed scuttling into the sanctuary of the cabin with 
her fingers to her ears. Even Smith was not entirely 
immune from the rasp of Mr. Pidgett’s tongue, while 
the slender Stanley visibly drooped and wilted, from 
hour to hour, under the malign influence of his sire’s 
ill-humour. 

And, secure in his galley, Mr. Horace Dobb, that 

196 


THE OLD FIRM 


197 


unsuspected wizard, preened himself upon the evil 
spell he had cast over the “Jane Gladys / 7 and viewed 
the dire results of his necromancy with wicked joy. 
For, on his return from London, Mr. Pidgett had 
called for a light meal to be served for himself in the 
saloon. With calculated malice, Horace had put on the 
table, among more elaborate fare, a whole loaf of bread 
new-warm from the baker. Of that loaf, but a bare 
half remained at the close of the owner’s meal. And 
at tea that same evening a loaf of the same baking had 
figured for the bread and butter, escaping the notice 
of Mrs. Pidgett because she had a preference for brown 
loaves. Also there had been muffins. 

Encouraged by the appearance of Mr. Pidgett next 
morning, Horace had cudgelled his ingenuity. As a 
result, the rice-pudding that day, of the series which 
was a standing order, was a marvel of richness, so far 
as rice-pudding can be rich. Spices and a great dispro¬ 
portion of oleaginous ingredients had been introduced 
into it, and Mr. Pidgett, despite the vexations begin¬ 
ning to veil his soul, had eaten unsparingly of it. Af¬ 
terwards, too, he had growled to the cook that he was 
glad the decent making of a pudding had at last been 
mastered, and said that he wished the same recipe and 
procedure to be followed henceforth without variation. 

And so the tiny cloud, which was at first but a misty 
uneasiness of temperament in Mr. Pidgett, spread and 
thickened till it was a leaden fog which surrounded the 
whole “Jane Gladys” in gloom. 

Mr. Clark coming along the deck and passing the 
owner warily, as one might pass a dog of known sav¬ 
agery in a narrow lane, saw Horace’s beckoning hand 
behind the galley window and attended on his shipmate 
at once. 


198 THE OLD FIRM 

“When are we due at St. Anthony’s?” asked Mr. 
Dobb. 

“About four tbis afternoon,” replied Mr. Clark. 
“I’m going to ask to be allowed to go for a walk when 
we get there. Me nerves is all gone to bits. Did ever 
you see such a thunderstorm as the owner? It only 
wants a drenched Band of ’Ope outing and the pickcher 
would be complete.” 

“Oh, the storm ain’t broke yet!” said Mr. Dobb. 
“This is only the glass a-going down. You wait till 
this afternoon!” 

“That there post card-?” 

Mr. Dobb nodded. 

“I’m going ashore to fetch the letters myself,” he 
said. “I’ve arranged that all right with the skipper. 
[We ain’t stopping long, you know—only just touching 
to get the owner’s post. What’s the time now?” 

“Getting on for noon.” 

“And Stanley ain’t up yet, is ’e ?” 

“Yo, ’e ain’t, and I don’t blame ’im, neither. ’E 
won’t ’alf catch it, though, when ’e does appear. The 
owner’s been grumbling and growling all the morning 
about ’im laying in bed. Stanley says ’e’s got a ’ead- 
ache. ’Owever, ’is pa don’t seem to think so, not by 
no means.” 

“Oh, well, the old man would find something to 
shout at ’im about, whatever ’appened!” returned Mr. 
Dobb. “So ’e might just as well be blowed up for 
stopping in bed at the same time. The owner’ll give 
’im full measure of his tongue, in any case. ’E don’t 
seem to ’ave any patience with ’is angel child nowa¬ 
days, thank goodness. By the way, Sam, you know 
Peter always tidies Stanley’s cabin every day? Well, 



THE OLD FIRM 


199 


to-day, I’ve arranged with Peter to be busy, so you’ll 
’ave to do it.” 

“Me? What for?” 

“I’ll tell you,” said Mr. Dobb. 

It was just before the hour for the midday meal that 
Mr. Stanley Pidgett made a markedly diffident appear¬ 
ance on deck. 

“Ob, so there you are!” cried Mr. Pidgett, in a kind 
of fierce joy, and bounced towards bis son. “A nice 
hour of the day to come slinking out of your bed! A 
nice, smart, wideawake young fellow you are! Dozing 
and snoozing away your time like a lazy, loafing-” 

“I say, patah!” expostulated Stanley. 

“Don’t you ‘pater’ me, sir! I’m sick and tired of 
your slang! I’m fed up with it! See? And I’m 
pretty well fed up with you, too! Fed up right to my 
back teeth!” 

“If you only knew bow my bead was aching-” 

plaintively murmured Stanley. 

“Pooh—stuff—nonsense! Your ’ead ain’t the sort 
to ache. What is there in it to ache ? Nothing! Noth¬ 
ing! So don’t you start whining round me with any 

of them excuses. The time’s come when you-And 

what the devil do you want?” bellowed Mr. Pidgett, 
wheeling fiercely round on Mr. Clark, who was ambling 
forward with eyes that goggled widely. 

“I—I just been starting to do Mr. Stanley’s cabin, 
sir. Peter Lock was busy and ’e couldn’t wait about 
no longer, so ’e asked me to do it instead of ’im.” 

“Well? Well?” 

“I believe there’s been another burglary, sir!” as¬ 
serted Mr. Clark. 

“What?” 





200 


THE OLD FIRM 


“Thievery, or something of the sort!” declared Mr. 
Clark. “It’s my belief there’s a thief ’fdden some¬ 
where about the ship, and ’e means to slip off when we 
gets to St. Anthony’s.” 

“What the deuce do you mean, man ?” 

“I ain’t going to ’ave no blame cast on meV 9 said 
Mr. Clark. “Soon as ever I found it out-” 

“Found what out? Speak sense!” shouted Mr. Pid- 
gett. 

“Ain’t you missed nothing out of your cabin, sir?” 
asked Mr. Clark, turning to Stanley. 

“I? No. Oh-” said Stanley, and drew in his 

breath sharply. 

“All them beautiful, lovely silver-topped bottles and 
things, sir, what was on Mr. Stanley’s dressing-table, 
sir! Gone, sir! Clean gone!” 

“What ?” bawled Mr. Pidgett, and made long strides 
to his son’s apartment. 

“What did you want to interfere for, you fat old 
fool ?” Stanley furiously asked Mr. Clark. 

“Hinterfere, sir ? I was—I was pertecting your in¬ 
terests. And fat I may be sir, and old I can’t ’elp 
being, but Tool’ is very ’arsh and uncalled-for, sir, that 
I must say.” 

“Stanley!” called Mr. Pidgett, reappearing in ex¬ 
citement. “Stanley, come here!” 

“Oh, Lor’!” wailed Mr. Pidgett, junior. “Now for 
it!” 

Slowly he went to his father, and the pair re-entered 
the youth’s cabin. There was a short wait, and then 
came a bellowing shout from the owner, and next, five 
seconds later, Mr. Pidgett darted passionately across 
to the galley and, wrenching open the door, bawled a 
question at the cook. 




THE OLD FIRM 


201 


“Certainly I did, sir, and I won’t deny it,” suavely 
answered Mr. Dobb. “I only carried out orders, sir. 
You told us yourself that Mr. Stanley was always to be 
looked on as boss when you wasn’t here. And he par¬ 
ticular told me never to tell a soul, otherwise I dare 
say, sir, old Sam would never ’ave-” 

“Urrgh!” trumpeted Mr. Pidgett and dashed back 
to his son. 

He remained closeted with that young gentleman for 
a full quarter of an hour, and to Mr. Clark, lingering 
fascinated within earshot, it seemed as if the owner 
never once stopped for breath. Mrs. Pidgett, hearing 
something of the outcry, came to listen too, but soon 
shook her head and stole silently away again. 

It was a chastened Mr. Stanley who sat on the deck 
that afternoon, with his toes close together, his wrists 
crossed on his lap, and a look of patient suffering on 
his face. 

At four o’clock the “Jane Gladys” anchored off St. 
Anthony’s, and Mr. Horace Dobb and Mr. Joseph 
Tridge rowed ashore to fulfil certain errands. 

At four-fifty Mr. Tridge and Mr. Dobb returned to 
the vessel. A packet of letters, securely tied round 
with string, was in Mr. Dobb’s hand, and a twinkle 
in his eye. 

At four-fifty-two, Mr. James Pidgett sat down at 
the saloon table to sort the correspondence Mr. Dobb 
had brought him. 

And at four-fifty-two-and-a-half, Mr. Pidgett’s voice 
roared: “Stanley !” 

Mr. Pidgett, junior, obeyed the summons, sighing as 
a victim of the Inquisition might have sighed when 
recalled to the torture chamber. 

“What’s this ?” demanded Mr. Pidgett, and flung a 



202 THE OLD FIRM 

somewhat vulgar picture post card on the table before 
Stanley. 

“That? Oh, that’s—well, I mean it looks like one 
of those post card affairs people send to each other— 
what?” hazarded the harassed and perplexed Stanley. 
“What I mean to say, a picture post card—eh?” 

“Any fool can see that’s what it is! I want to know 
what the devil it means!” 

“Oh! what it means ?” murmured Stanley, still at a 
loss. “Well, it’s a sort of love thing, don’t you know. 
I mean, a couple behaving like that, and all that sort 
of thing, and then the bit about ‘Love me and the world 
is mine’—I mean, that sounds affectionate, and all that 
kind of rot, so to speak, don’t it ?” 

“It does,” grimly agreed Mr. Pidgett. 

“Which of the crew is it for ?” asked Stanley. 

“Hone of ’em!” 

“You don’t mean to say it’s for Captain Dutt?” 
asked Stanley. “I say!” 

“The postmark on the other side is Plynhampton,” 
stated Mr. Pidgett, with a steady stare at his son. 

“Oh!” said Stanley, with no great interest in that 
fact. 

“How look here!” cried Mr. Pidgett. “I don’t 
want no more beating about the bush! Do you or do 
you not know a young person in Plynhampton, called” 
—he turned the card over—called ‘Hilda’ ?” 

“H-h-h-hilda ?” faltered Stanley. 

“Ho lies now!” warned his father. “Do you, or 
not ?” 

“I—I did meet a young lady in Plynhampton,” ad¬ 
mitted Stanley, “and I have a sort of—a sort of idea 
her name was Hilda.” 


THE OLD FIRM 


203 


“Well, Pm eternally jiggered!” said Mr. Pidgett, 
and sat back limply in his chair, with his arms hanging 
over its sides. 

“I—don’t quite see - ” complained Stanley. 

“ ‘Best love to my darling’!” quoted Mr. Pidgett, 
sitting erect again to heat his fists on the table. “ ‘Don’t 
forget the brooch you promised me!’ ‘Your sweet¬ 
heart, Hilda’!” 

“Captain Dutt seems to—to have been going it,” 
ventured Stanley mildly. 

“Captain Dutt, you young jackanapes! The post 
card isn’t for him! It’s for you! Here it is! Look 
at it!” 

“Oh, I say!” breathed Stanley limply. 

“Now what the devil have you got to say for your¬ 
self?” 

“I—I never promised her a brooch, anyhow,” men¬ 
tioned Stanley. “I—I can’t see why she should have 
written to me at all, I—I mean— really”—he ended, 
looking wistfully towards the door—“well, it’s it s 
fearful impertience on her part.” 

Mr. Pidgett rose and locked the door. 

“How you just tell me every word about it,” he 
ordered. “Who this designing young female is, and 
how you came to meet her, and all the rest of it! What 
was you thinking about, to forget your cousin Hora 
like that ? Have you written any letters to this young 
’ussy in Plynhampton? How long have you known 
her? Come on, now, tell me everything . Come on, 
now!” 

The ordeal of the Third Degree began in earnest. 

Meanwhile, Mr. Dobb had sought out Smith. 

“How’s your time,” he told him elatedly. If you 


204 


THE OLD FIRM 


means to carry out your words to us, and give us them 
two fivers for being made mate and a chance to ’ave a 
few rounds with Stanley, now’s your chance!” 

“Oh, I don’t know that I’m so keen, now that I’ve 
thought it over,” returned Smith. 

“What ?” screamed Mr. Dobb. “After all the trou¬ 
ble I’ve took. That be blowed for a tale!” 

“Well, Hora—Miss Barton—told me that he didn’t 
trouble her so very much, and- 

“If she did, it was because she didn’t like to cause you 
no ill-concern of mind,” contended Mr. Dobb swiftly. 
“I could tell a different tale myself, and so could Sam 
and Joe and Peter if they liked. ’Ere, did Peter ever 
show you them bits of torn-up notepaper ’e found in 
Stanley’s cabin? Rough copy of a love-letter to ’er, 
it was, and not ’alf go-a’ead and affectionate neither! 
Didn’t ’e show ’em to you ?” 

“Ho!” 

“Oh, ’e must ’ave burned ’em, then, in case ’e got 
’imself into trouble over it!” said Mr. Dobb glibly. 
“ ’Ere, Peter!” he called, summoning Mr. Lock. “What 
did you do with them bits of love-letter you found in 
Stanley’s cabin. ’Ave you still got ’em, or did you 
burn ’em ?” 

“Them bits of love-letter?” questioned Mr. Lock, 
closely watching Horace’s eyes. “Them? Oh, them% 
I burned ’em.” 

“There you are!” said Mr. Dobb to Smith. “Very 
loving and affectionate, wasn’t they, Peter?” 

“Poetry,” mentioned Mr. Lock. 

“There you are!” said Mr. Dobb again. “Great bits 
of poetry in a love-letter! That ought to show you, 
didn’t it?” 

“And ever so many little crosses after he’d signed 



THE OLD FIRM 


205 


his name,” added Mr. Lock. “Oh, a real am-a-tory 
diffusion!” 

“Confound him!” growled Smith restively. 

“You want to be more on the spot,” advised Mr. 
Dobb. “That ’are-and-tortoise business is too old-fash¬ 
ioned nowadays.” 

“Well, what do you suggest I should do?” asked 
Smith. 

“Knock ’im out, be made yourself, and make the 
pace as ’ot as you can,” instructed Mr. Dobb. 

“And how is that to be done?” 

“Listen!” said Mr. Dobb, raising his forefinger. 

From the saloon there clearly came the sounds of 
Mr. Pidgett’s voice raised in passionate denunciation 
and frenzied admonition. Even as they listened, Mr. 
Pidgett’s tones soared higher and higher till it split 
in a falsetto squeak, only to recommence again in a 
lower key with undiminished vigour. 

“ ’Ear all that ?” said Mr. Dobb. “Well, this is the 
phisical moment.” 

“Physiocological moment,” gently corrected Mr. 
Lock. 

“Soon as ever Mr. Pidgett comes out of that there 
saloon, and you see ’alf a chance, you go straight up 
to ’im and ask ’im something.” 

“Hardly the right time to ask him anything,” de¬ 
murred Smith. 

“That’s where you’re wrong. There’s a right time 
for everything. You go straight up to ’im and ask if 
’e’ll run this old boat on Western Ocean lines.” 

“Well, what does that mean?” 

Mr. Dobb explained, and appended to his explana¬ 
tion a few brief instructions for Smith’s guidance. 

In silence the trio awaited the reappearance of Mr. 


206 


THE OLD FIRM 


Pidgett. They heard his voice growing hoarser and 
lower by degrees, though occasionally it boomed forth 
again fitfully for a moment or two with explosive vig¬ 
our, as a guttering candle may leap in its last moments 
of light. And at last there was a long, heavy quiet 
within the saloon, and finally Mr. Pidgett forcefully 
plucked open the door and began to stride, fretting 
and fuming, about the deck. 

“May I have a word with you, sir ?” courageously 
asked Smith. 

“No!” snapped Mr. Pidgett, without stopping. He 
flung an angry glance at Smith. “Oh, its you? Well, 
what do you want ?” he asked ungraciously. 

“Do you—er—are you willing to run this ship on 
Western Ocean lines ?” asked Smith. 

“What the dickens-! Western Ocean lines?” 

“Well, sir, they tell me that on those big ships any¬ 
one who can thrash the mate can have his job.” 

“Thrash the mate—thrash my son?” 

“That’s what I understand, sir.” 

Mr. Pidgett halted, rammed his hands in his pockets, 
and looked Smith over from toe to crown. Then he 
glanced sharply towards the saloon. 

“Do the young jackanapes a world of good!” he 
rasped. “But—but-” 

He took a dozen paces and halted again. For a sec¬ 
ond time he looked on Smith. 

“It isn’t as if he’s just an ordinary sailor,” he 
mused, balancing himself alternatively on his toes and 
heels. “There’s no disgrace in being whopped by 
a man of good family. All three of us might have a 
jolly laugh over it, one day, over a whisky and soda. 
And a jolly good hiding would do that young fool good. 
And the new mate will be a man of birth. Dare say 




THE OLD FIRM 


207 


he’ll like being mate. More fitting to his real station, 
too. And that confounded young nincompoop of mine 
deserves-” 

He went back to Smith. 

“Right you are!” he said. “You prove you can 
thrash the mate, and you can have his job. And—and 
don’t hurt him any more than there’s a real need to.” 

And now, in some way, the foreground became per¬ 
meated by Horace. On his respectful suggestion the 
combat was timed to take place in ten minutes, when 
he promised that the ladies of the party should unsus¬ 
pectingly be starting their tea in the saloon. Also, at 
his instigation, Mr. Pidgett called Stanley forth and 
explained the terms of the contest to that youth, who, 
partly because his perceptions were still numb, and 
partly because the presence of witnesses permitted no 
other honourable course, assented wanly to the pro¬ 
gramme. 

A few minutes later, while Mrs. Pidgett was pouring 
out the first cups of tea, Captain Dutt, as unbiased 
umpire, called out “Time!” to Smith, and “Time, sir, 
if you please!” to Stanley. 

The gladiators met in the centre of an extemporized 
ring. It was not a prolonged contest, and it was not an 
Homeric struggle. As a theatre curtain sweeps down 
at the end of an act upon one grouping of characters, 
and lifts in the next moment on a rearranged tableau, 
so was the fight divided into two stages. At one sec¬ 
ond, Smith and Stanley were facing each other with 
raised fists, with Captain Dutt craning intently for¬ 
ward to watch them, while Mr. Pidgett looked grimly 
on with folded arms and the cook and his friends were 
nudging each other in happy anticipation. In the next 
second, Stanley was prone on the deck, witb Smith 



208 


THE OLD FIRM 


looking down at him rather apologetically, while Cap¬ 
tain Dutt had begun to count aloud. Mr. Pidgett was 
smiling, with his lips set in a half-satisfied, half-con¬ 
temptuous manner, and the comrades of the forecastle 
were openly grinning their pleasure in Stanley’s 
debacle . 

“Three—four—five-” counted Captain Dutt. 

Stanley, lying on his back with his eyes wide open, 
was clearly giving interest only to the progress of the 
skipper’s counting. 

“Six—seven—eight- 99 went on Captain Dutt. 

The youth recumbent on the deck made no attempt 
to move. 

“Nine—ten!” finished the skipper, and at once Stan¬ 
ley slowly began to rise, caressing the point of his chin 
and scowling darkly at Smith. 

“Shake hands!” directed Mr. Pidgett. 

“Dashed if I do!” said Stanley and skulked off. 

“Come hack!” shouted Mr. Pidgett, incensed, hut 
Stanley held on his way into his cabin and slammed 
the door. 

Mr. Smith’s acquaintances of the forecastle patted 
him on the hack and voiced their congratulations. 

“Henceforth you 9 re mate of the ship,” Mr. Pidgett 
told Smith. “Hope you’ll like the job.” 

“Go below and get your things,” directed the skip¬ 
per, “and bring ’em along to my cabin. You’ll have to 
share that with me in future.” 

Attended by his shipmates, Smith went down to the 
forecastle, where his first act was to liquidate an obli¬ 
gation to the syndicate. 

“Another ten quid for ‘ ’Orace & Co.’,” jubilantly 
cried Mr. Dobb. “Do you know, I reckon we ought to 
be going about in top ’ats and white spats, like all 
them other fynanciereys.” 



THE OLD FIRM 


209 


Smith, going on deck with his portmanteau, was ac¬ 
costed by Mr. Pidgett. 

“Very neat job you made of it,” said the owner. 
“But if Pd known how he was going to take it, I’d have 
got you to give him a hit more. Well, and now you’ve 
got your new job, is there anything else I can do for 
you ? Don’t be afraid to ask, man.” 

“Well, it’s very good of you, hut, really, sir-” 

“Look here, while we’re about it, what about a few 
days off to go and see your people, eh ?” 

“Ho, thank you, sir, I’d much rather remain here.” 

“As you wish. Only I don’t want you to have any 
ill-will over the way that young cub of mine took his 
licking. I don’t want nothing like that to spoil your 
stay on the Mane Gladys’.” 

“Oh, I’m having a splendid time, sir!” 

“That’s good,” returned Mr. Pidgett. “But look 
here, you’ve got friends. Why not invite some of them 
to join us. I’m only a plain man, I know, though I’ve 
met Sirs and Markisses before to-day at company meet¬ 
ings, but- Well, look here, Smith, I can see as 

far through a brick wall as most people. I know well 
enough you ain’t what you pretend to be.” 

Smith coughed uneasily, but Mr. Pidgett patted him ^ 
reassuringly on the shoulder. 

“Don’t you trouble,” said the owner. “You can look 
on me as your friend. I’d like to see you settled back 
in your proper place in life. Anything I can do to help 
you, I’ll do willingly. If there’s anything you want, 
now’s your time to ask.” 

Smith, still flushed by success and anxious to make 
the most of this favourable opportunity, suffered a 
grave lapse in discretion. 

“Well, sir,” he said, “I’d very much like to marry 
Miss Barton, if you don’t mind.” 



CHAPTER XVIII 


F OR a long while, Mr. Pidgett stared in speechless 
surprise at the young man before him. 

“You want to marry my niece ?” he asked at length. 

“That is what you said, isn’t it ? You want to-” 

“Yes, sir, I want to marry Miss Barton. I want that 
more than anything else in the world.” 

“But—but I had no idea-” protested Mr. Pid¬ 

gett, shaking his head uncomprehendingly. “Very 
sudden, ain’t it?” 

“Er—well—not altogether,” replied Smith. 

“Has she any idea ? Does she know anything about 
it?” 

“Oh, rather! Well, I mean, she—she knows , of 
course!” 

“Oh, she does, does she?” exclaimed Mr. Pidgett. 
“Well, it’s a surprise to me, anyway—a great sur¬ 
prise !” 

“Perhaps I ought to have waited a little longer,” 
said Smith, beginning to repent his impulsiveness. 

“I don’t know what to say about it,” observed Mr. 
Pidgett. “As a matter of fact, I dare say you must 
have guessed I meant my own son to make a match 
with her. I don’t mind saying I’d set my heart on it. 

But- Well, it’s a bit of a staggerer. I don’t quite 

know how to go on about it.” 

“I—I could promise Miss Barton a comfortable 
home, and—and all that sort of thing, sir,” pleaded 
Smith. 


210 





THE OLD FIRM 


211 


“Oh, I don’t doubt that, my boy! I’m not denying 
it wouldn’t be a very good match for her. A brilliant 
match, for that matter, marrying into a family like 
yours. I’m her uncle, and her guardian, too, practi¬ 
cally, and I don’t want to stand in her way. But— 
well, I wanted her and my Stanley to pair off, and this 
knocks that idea on the ’ead. As I say, it knocks it 
on the Ji-Jiead ” 

“Mr. Stanley is very young, sir. He’d soon get over 
it.” 

“Ob, I’ve no doubt be would! But me and bis ma 
> would have a rare job to find him another young lady 
wbo’d make just the right kind of wife for him as Nora 
would. Ob, he'd get over it soon enough. Why, it 
would pretty well console him if you asked him to be 
best man at the wedding. He’d get over bis disap¬ 
pointment pretty quick in bis excitement at the idea 
of having bis photograph in all the society papers in 
a pot bat and white waistcoat. Ob, I’ve got no delu¬ 
sions left about him! It’s the spoiling of the plans 
me and bis ma have made for him that I can’t lose 
sight of.” 

“I quite understand that, sir, but-” 

“And then again, bow will your family take it? 
Nora’s the equal of any lady in the land, but there’s no 
blinking the fact that your family and ours don’t move 
in the same set, not by no means. And I ain’t going 
to have Nora snubbed for marrying out of her class.” 

“Ob, I don’t see there’s the slightest chance of that, 
sir,” urged Smith. “I admit her surroundings are 
bound to be a bit different if she marries me, but there’s 
nothing I wouldn’t do to make her comfortable and 
happy and-” 

“All very well, my boy, but I know something of 




212 


THE OLD FIRM 


the world, yon know, though I am only a self-made 
man, as they say. Suppose your folks start patronizing 
her, eh?” 

“There’s no earthly reason why they should!” de¬ 
clared the young man. “I’m sure they’ll welcome Nora 
to the family. How could they patronize her because 
she happens to be the niece of—of a financial mag¬ 
nate ?” 

“Well, of course, looked at from that point of view,” 
returned Mr. Pidgett, with a certain restored com¬ 
placency, “it don’t seem reasonable. Alter all, as far 
as money goes, I dare say I could give Nora as good 
a start as any nobleman’s daughter, hut-” 

“Oh, we don’t want to talk about that,” said Smith 
•quickly. “In fact, I’d far rather Nora didn’t bring 
any money with her. We could get along quite well 
without it and-” 

“I’ve no doubt you could,” agreed Mr. Pidgett. “But 
we could talk about that some other time. Sometimes 
estates ain’t so snug as they look when you come to 
examine ’em close, you know. Mortgages, cutting 
down the timber, that sort of thing. But we’re going 
ahead much too fast. The main point is you want to 
marry Nora and I can’t make up my mind what to 
say about it.” 

“Why, say you consent, sir, and there’s no need to 
say any more.” 

“Yes, hut what will your father say about it ? You 
ought to consult him, you know. It’s your duty.” 

“Oh, my father won’t raise any objections, sir. You 
can be sure about that. He lets me go my own way.” 

“Come to think of it,” said Mr. Pidgett, “didn’t he 
make a fuss about some other young lady you fell in 
love with ? plot other ideas for you, hadn’t he ?” 




THE OLD FIRM 


m 

“First I’ve heard of it, sir. Why, there never was 
any ‘other yonng lady’ before Miss Barton.” 

“I heard different. Only a rumonr, maybe. I 1 
know how rumours do spread about you young men- 
about town. Anyway, you have quarrelled with your 
father about something, now, haven’t you ? How don’t 
deny that! It’s owing to a quarrel with your father 
that you’re here on this ship, isn’t it ?” 

“Oh, the guv’nor and I often quarrel, in a mild 
way, but it’s very soon made up again. But it’s no 
quarrel with him that brought me aboard here, as per¬ 
haps you can guess now.” 

“You’d have to be reconciled to him before ever I 
could think of a wedding. I ain’t going to give him 
the chance of saying you were trapped while you were 
hard up and couldn’t very well help yourself. Ho, 
you’ll have to make it up with the markiss before any¬ 
thing else, my boy!” 

“The marquis ?” queried Smith in surprise. 

“The Markiss o’ Brighton—that’s who I mean.” 

“But what’s he got to do with it ?” 

“How, come, come, my boy, you needn’t keep up 
that sub rosa in cog, disguised business any longer! 
I know who you are well enough. Known it ever since 
you’ve been with us. So’s Stanley! Him and me knew 
who you really was, right from the start, though we 
never told anybody else. You’re the Honourable Some¬ 
thing Worthing, son of the Markiss o’ Brighton!” 

“I am ?” gasped the other. “You think I’m the- 

Now I see why you’ve treated me so decently, why 
you’ve given me such an easy time! But—but you’re 
making a big mistake, I’m not the Honourable any¬ 
body !” 

“Then who the devil are you ?” roared the owner. 



214 


THE OLD FIRM 


“Well, I dare say you’ve heard of me, though we 
haven’t, so to speak, met before,” said the young man, 
backing a little. “I mean—well, of course we’ve met 
before on this boat, but-” 

“Who — are—you V* 

“Well, my name’s Wayfield—er—Clifford Way- 
field!” 

“What T’ screamed the owner. 

“Ah, I see, you have heard of me!” murmured the 
other nervously. “You see, Mr. Pidgett, it was like 
this—I just had to—well, I mean, I couldn’t think of 
any other way and-” 

“Don’t you dare to stand there talking to me an¬ 
other moment!” shouted the owner. “Of all the con¬ 
founded impertinence and cheek! Coming aboard my 
ship to—to make love to my niece! Crawling and 
sneaking aboard here to be near Miss Barton! And 
then having the dashed impudence to ask me— me !— 
to give my consent-” 

“It was a bit rash,” agreed the young man, recover¬ 
ing a little spirit. “Fairly plucky, though, don’t you 
think ?” 

“Get out of my sight, you beggarly advertisement- 
canvasser or lawyer or clerk, or whatever it is!” 

“Chartered accountant, sir,” politely supplied the 
other. 

“Then get back to your red ink and rulers! A fine 
job yours must be if you can afford to waste week after 
week knocking about as a common sailorman!” 

“Well, I admit there isn’t exactly a rush of busi¬ 
ness,” conceded he who must henceforth be known as 
Wayfield. “But I’ve got hopes, and a good clerk, and 
a private income. I’d like to suggest that those are 
helps to a man. Borne, you know, sir, Borne! They 




THE OLD FIRM 215 

took time over housing schemes even in those days, 
you know, sir. 

“Pah! Don’t try to be funny, sir!” 

“It is a bit difficult, in the circumstances,” admitted 
Wayfield regretfully. 

“You talk about ‘private income.’ How much have 
you got?” 

Well, it brings in between eight and nine hundred 
at present, sir.” 

“Good Lor’, and he calls that ‘income’ in these 
days!” bellowed Mr. Pidgett. “And he asks my niece, 
accustomed to every luxury, to share that with him! 
Get out of my sight, man! Pack your portmanteau, 
there, and get off this ship—now—at once! I won’t 
have you aboard another hour! We’ll be sailing again 
in a few minutes, and if you ain’t gone by then-” 

“But look here, sir-” 

“Dutt!” shouted the owner. “Captain Dutt, where 
the dickens are you ? Oh, there you are! Well, have 
this chap put in the boat and rowed ashore at once, will 
you? At once! See!” 

Mr. Pidgett strode off furiously. Then suddenly he 
turned and came back with a malevolent, ominous 
scowl. 

“Wait a bit,” he directed. “I just thought of some¬ 
thing. He came aboard here to please himself, didn’t 
he? Well, now he can stop, because I want him to. 
He’s signed on with us, ain’t he, and can’t leave with¬ 
out notice, can he? Very well, then let him take his 
bag back down below with them other fellows. There 
he belongs and there he can stop till I’ve done with 
him. And get the anchor up at once!” 

“Very good, sir,” answered the skipper. “If the 
wind holds we shall be in Swansea Bay in no time.” 




216 


THE OLD FIRM 


“Never mind about Swansea Bay or any other 
stopping place / 5 said the owner. “I’ve changed my 
mind. You take us out to sea, and keep on and on 
till I tell you to stop. I don’t mean to give anyone 
the slightest chance of leaving this boat yet awhile.” 

The skipper, summoning the crew, began prepara¬ 
tions for instant departure. The owner, a grim, men¬ 
acing figure, stood motionless among all the hustle, 
and it was only when the sails were fully set and the 
“Jane Gladys” was beginning to draw away from St. 
Anthony’s that he spoke again. 

“And now look here, Captain Dutt,” he said. “I 
want you to see that that man works, that chap who 
calls himself Smith, there. Never mind so much about 
the others. See that Smith does his share and a bit 
over. I’ve treated him mistaken in the past, but now 
I’m going to see that he makes up for that mistake. 
Don’t give him a minute’s more rest than you can help. 
Keep him on the go night and day. Let him go to bed 
tired and get up tired. Don’t have no mercy on him! 
Tm not going to. He—he ran his head into the lion’s 
mouth of his own accord, and now he’s got to put up 
with the consequences. And if he ain’t sick and sorry 
for himself before he’s much older, my name ain’t 
James Pidgett!” 

He nodded emphatically, stared with the utmost hos¬ 
tility at Mayfield, and strutted off. 

“Oh, well,” said Mr. Dobb, philosophically to Mr. 
Lock, “it’s an ill wind that don’t blow nobody a little 
bit of good! Smith’s booked for a real sticky time, I 
can see, but it wouldn’t surprise me in the least if it 
all turned cut well, somehow, in the end—well for 
‘ ’Orace & Co.,’ I mean.” 


CHAPTER XIX 


S IX days of intensive cultivation had done much 
to obscure the natural charm of Mr. Clifford Way- 
field. Now, as he went forlornly about the deck, he 
bore strong family resemblance to those effigies with 
which small boys are wont to parade the streets on the 
fifth day of November. 

Malevolent conspiracy on the part of his superiors 
had devised all manner of untidy tasks for him, from 
the sweeping of flues to the whitewashing of pantries, 
with an occasional spell at applying red lead and green 
paint by way of chromatic variation. Also he had been 
compelled to extensive bouts of board-scrubbing and 
brass-polishing and lamp-cleaning. All these exercises 
had left their mark on his wardrobe, and there had 
been, in addition, accidental evils suffered from pro¬ 
jecting nails and oil-containers that oozed and treacher¬ 
ous tins of varnish. 

So that speedily Mr. Wayfield’s outward appearance 
had become more and more speckled and disreputable, 
and constant kneeling made the legs of his nether gar¬ 
ments sag in an unfashionable way which caused him 
much secret distress. 

In dogged effort to preserve sightliness in the view 
of his charmer, he had rung the changes on the con¬ 
tents of his portmanteau as far as possible. A lack of 
trained expertness, and the absence of mind which 
comes of melancholy had, however, conspired to thwart 
his attempts, and one outfit after another had joined 
217 


218 


THE OLD FIRM 


the ranks of the ruined till not one remained smart 
and unsullied. 

And now, in a state which made even Mr. Samuel 
Clark, in his oldest suit, appear trim and modish by 
comparison, Mr. Way field toiled about the deck, con¬ 
demned to this shameful publicity by the ire of the 
envenomed Mr. Pidgett. Usually the owner sat in 
grim state, watching his victim with savage satisfac¬ 
tion, hut often he would come to stand over Wayfield 
to criticize his work and make grim mockery of his 
degradation. 

Frequently it had struck Wayfield that life could 
offer nothing sweeter and more abundantly satisfying 
to him than a swift rising to his feet and the accurate 
planting of a fist upon Mr. Pidgett’s undistinguished 
features. It was an idea which captured Wayfield’s 
imagination, and sometimes, when he appeared to he 
engrossed in the sweep of his paint-brush, he was really 
absorbed in considering whether it would be more grat¬ 
ifying to smite the owner on his nose, or on his right 
eye, or on his left eye. 

Something of these calculations he mentioned in the 
forecastle on the second evening after his downfall. 
Mr. Lock at once warned him of the danger he ran, 
declaring that such an assault laid him open to charges 
varying from disorderly conduct to mutiny on the high 
seas. Mr. Samuel Clark, however, stated a belief that 
the First Offenders’ Act would indemnify Mr. Way- 
field. All next day the stout mariner hung about, 
fascinated, whenever Mr. Pidgett approached Way- 
field, and at nightfall he bitterly remarked that the 
present generation had no enterprise. 

For Wayfield mastered temptation and mutely sub¬ 
mitted to his punishment, finding solace in discovering 


THE OLD FIRM 


219 


Miss Barton’s gaze fixed upon him with the utmost 
sympathy whenever she appeared in the open. That 
her uncle had spoken to her of the matter was evident 
by her deportment. Indeed, Mrs. Brockway privately 
told Mr. Dobb that the interview between uncle and 
niece had been a spirited affair, with Miss Barton ob¬ 
stinately refusing to admit regrets or make promises 
until Mr. Pidgett had enforced a victory by threaten¬ 
ing to cut off all future supplies to the young lady’s 
mother. 

But Wayfield was not the only victim on the “Jane 
'Gladys” to Mr. Pidgett’s anger. Mr. Stanley Pidgett, 
too, was under the lash. Coming in sequence to the 
matter of the silver fittings of the dressing-case and the 
revelations concerning the existence of the damsel 
Hilda at Plynhampton, Stanley’s share in establish¬ 
ing Wayfield’s mistaken identity brought Mr. Pidgett 
to the very apex of volcanic passion. 

In vain had the harassed Stanley sought to excul¬ 
pate himself by stating that it was from Mr. Lock that 
he had derived the story that Wayfield was in reality 
the son of the Marquis of Brighton. 

Mr. Lock, cross-examined by the owner, had con¬ 
vincingly contended that it was quite the other way. 
Indeed, he repeated portions of his conversation with 
Stanley, and made it clear that the youth had begun 
by asserting that he plainly recognized the soi-distant 
“Smith” as an aristocratic club-mate. Mr. Lock con¬ 
fessed that he had a faint idea that he had seen Way- 
field somewhere before, but pleaded a faulty memory, 
and said that he had simply accepted Stanley’s word 
as to the identity of the new-comer. 

And persuaded in the end by Mr. Lock’s plausibil¬ 
ity, Mr. Pidgett had returned, ravening, to his son, 


220 


THE OLD FIRM 


convinced that here was another of Stanley’s idiocies. 
Over the head of that devoted youth he had poured the 
vials of his wrath, and then had gone on to break the 
vials and rub their sharp fragments forcefully into his 
son’s skull. 

Grey as life had been growing for Stanley, existence 
was now turned into black affliction for him. At every 
opportunity his father rasped the savagest of rebukes 
and comments at him, and under the crushing weight 
of his sire’s relentless anger the personality of the once- 
magnificent youth crumpled and flattened day by day, 
till he became an utterly dispirited, cringing object, 
not far removed from tears. 

And thus, of late, the “Jane Gladys” had held 
joylessly on her course, with Mr. Pidgett dividing his 
devastating attentions between Wayfield and Stanley, 
searing the soul of each in turn with scorn and jibe 
and insult, leaving one in helpless exasperation and 
going to the other to make him welter in plaintive emo¬ 
tions, and keeping both tyrannies under way as stead¬ 
ily as a performer juggles with two billiard balls. 

It was on the evening of the sixth day of the devout 
lover’s martyrdom, when the owner had snarled a final 
warning at him and had gone to supper and his other 
victim, that Mr. Dobb stealthily called Wayfield into 
the galley. 

Mr. Joseph Tridge was there already, and both he 
and the cook shook their heads in commiseration at 
Wayfield when he entered. 

“Mind if I sit down?” wearily asked Wayfield. 
“Thanks. Don’t be alarmed at any creaking noises— 
it’s only my joints. Phew! I feel just like one of 
those ‘Before Taking’ photos in the patent medicine 
advertisements.” 


THE OLD FIRM 


m 


“I reckon it’s a thundering shame!” observed Mr. 
Tridge. “ ’E’s got yon at ’is mercy, and ’e don’t mean 
to show you. none. A blessed old Aero, that’s what ’e 
is!” 

“Aero was fond of music,” returned Wayfield, “hut 
this old blighter hasn’t a single redeeming feature of 
any sort.” 

“You ’ave this nice ’ot drop of coffee, chum,” urged 
Mr. Dobb solicitously. “You’ll feel better after it. I 
just made it specially for you.” 

Wayfield, gratefully taking the proffered liquid, 
sipped at it with relish. Mr. Dobb and Mr. Tridge, 
glancing occasionally at each other, waited in silence 
till he put down the empty cup with a sigh of en¬ 
joyment. 

» “What I mean to say is,” remarked Horace, softly, 
“you mustn’t think you got no friends aboard ’ere at 
all.” 

“Far from it,” supported Mr. Tridge. “Us chaps 
below ’ave got any amount of sympathy with you, only 
we can’t do nothing to ’elp, you know. At least-” 

“Me and Joe ’ave been talking things over quiet,” 
said Mr. Dobh, raising a hand to suppress his ship¬ 
mate. “I don’t mind saying it’s worried us no end 
that we couldn’t do nothing to ’elp you.” 

“Very good of you,” murmured Wayfield. 

“Aot a bit of it,” denied Horace. “You been a 
good friend to us chaps in the past, always very free 
and willing with your money and-■” 

“And we thought that p’r’aps, if we could ’elp you; 
again, you’d be willing to-” 

“You leave this to me, Joe,” curtly ordered Mr. 
Dobb. “I’ll do all the explaining necessary. As I was 
saying, chum, it’s worried us, not being able to help 




222 


THE OLD FIRM 


you. Why, old Sam Clark was actually moaning about 
it in ’is sleep, only last night, so that shows you, don’t 
it?” 

“And Peter Lock says, if only we was to put in at 
a foreign port, we could all go in a body and see the 
British Consul about it. As it is, though, the law’s 
tricky, and it’s difficult to see what can be done at Eng¬ 
lish ports,” said Mr. Tridge, “ ’Owever, me and ’Orace 
’ave thought of-” 

“What I was saying to Joe was this,” interrupted 
Mr. Dobb. “ ’Ow would it be if you was to commit 
suicide ?” 

“Rotten!” tersely replied Wayfield. 

“I don’t really mean commit suicide,” elucidated the 
cook. “Simply purtend to do it.” 

“Disappear,” amplified Mr. Tridge. “Make the 
owner think you’ve done away with yourself!” 

“But I’d have to come to life again some day,” ob¬ 
jected Wayfield. “And he’d be savager with me than 
ever, then. I’d have to keep on committing suicide 
and coming to life again, to do any good.” 

“Look ’ere, it’s no good taking it lightly like that,” 
counselled Mr. Dobb. “You’re ’aving a pretty serious 
time, and you’re likely to go on ’aving it, as far as I 
can see, so you’ve got to be’ave according.” 

“The owner don’t mean to give you a chance to hes- 
cape for a very long while,” said Mr. Tridge. “ ’E’s 
going to give you a lesson what’ll last a lifetime, ’e 
Bays, don’t ’e?” 

“He says it repeatedly,” confirmed Mr, Wayfield. 
“He’s made quite a habit of it.” 

“Yes, well, and this afternoon I heard ’im ask the 
skipper ’ow we was off for stores and water and so on. 
And the skipper told ’im, and ’e’s going to arrange to 



THE OLD FIRM 


223 


? ave a lighter sent out to ’im, three miles out to sea, 
(with fresh supplies, and then ’e talks about a straight 
run down the Mediterranean, without stopping no¬ 
where.” 

“That’s a cheerful prospect,” said Wayfield. 

“What you’ll look like after another three weeks or 
so—” remarked Mr. Dobb, shaking his head. 

“And what I’ll feel like!” sighed Wayfield. “But 
I’ll stick it. I’ll go through with it, whatever happens. 
He’s not going to frighten me off so easily. I’m in 
love, I admit, and love’s a big help. For a girl like 
Miss Barton I’d-” 

“This ain’t the time to talk love,” said Mr. Dobb. 
“This is the time to talk sense . Suppose you go right 
through with it, ’ow will that ’elp you? When ’e’s 
cooled down and got tired of bully-ragging you, ’e’ll 
just put you ashore somewhere and be done with you. 
Then what are you going to do ?” 

“Well, that is a bit of a problem,” conceded Way- 
field. 

“How, suppose you follows the idea I’ve been putting 
to Joe,” argued Mr. Dobb. “You disappears, and gives 
’im the impression that you’ve done away with your¬ 
self. See ’ow that puts ’im in a corner at once. ’E’ll 
think at once that it was ’is treatment of you that drove 
you to it. And ’e’ll know us chaps will be able to give 
evidence against ’im. ‘E’ll be at his wits’ ends ’ow to 
get out of the mess. Then, when ’e’s ’ad time prop¬ 
erly to understand the nasty persition ’e’s in, you pops 
up to life again.” 

“And he sees he’s been hoodwinked, and treats me 
Worse than ever,” said Wayfield. “Ho, thank you.” 

“Ah, but that’s where you are wrong! ’E’ll be so 
? appy and relieved at seeing you alive and well that 



m 


THE OLD FIRM 


Vll regular jump for joy. ’E’ll make it up with. you. 
and treat you decent ever after, and you’ll get a big 
7 elp forward with your love business you’re so set on.”' 

“I’m afraid his conduct isn’t in the least likely to 
be like that/’ said Wayfield. “He’s not that sort.” 

“You never can tell what sort a man is,” replied 
Mr. Dobb sententiously, “not till you’ve put ’im in 
unexpected corners. After all, Vll ’ave been seeing 
’imself as next door to a murderer for days, and ’e’ll 
see ’ow harsh and cruel and unreasonable Vs been 
treating you, and it’s a ’undred to one ’e’ll come right 
round and show ’is remorse by letting you get engaged 
to ’is niece.” 

“It ought to be worth trying for that alone,” artfully 
put in Mr. Tridge. “After all, if I was a young chap 
in love, I’d take a good many chances to get my gal, 
even if they didn’t look a bit likely. You never know 
your luck, you know.” 

“Yes, that’s so,” admitted Mr. Wayfield dubiously. 
“But then I do know Mr. Pidgett, you see. If I 
thought there was half a chance of things panning out 
as you suggest, I’d take it, but-” 

“Faint ’eart never yet did ’imself any good when 
’e went courting.” paraphrased Mr. Tridge. 

“Besides which,” said Mr. Dobb, “you’ll ’ave ’ad a 
few days complete rest, won’t you? You’ll be that 
to the good, in any case.” 

“By Jove, you’re right there; and I can do with a; 
rest! I believe I could sleep six weeks straight off, 
without any effort.” 

“There you are, then,” exclaimed Mr. Dobb as 
though the matter was settled. “You does as we ad¬ 
vise, and you gets a nice long rest, and a chance of 



THE OLD FIRM 


225 


bringing the owner round to see things different. What 
more do you want ?” 

“Well, but suppose the things only makes him more 
savage?” demurred Wayfield. “What then?” 

“Ah! what then, indeed?” challenged Mr. Dobb. 
“ ’E can’t treat you any worse, can ’e ?” 

“No, I don’t suppose he can,” agreed Wayfield. 
“Otherwise I suppose he would.” 

“Looked at from the right point of view,” said Mr. 
Tridge, “it’s a real bit of sport. A chap like you 
ought to think it a reg’lar lark to fool the owner like 
that. And, supposing ’e does cut up rustier than ever 
when you comes back to life, you can make ’im look 
sillier than ever, if you like. I mean, supposing ’is 
treatment of you does become unbearable, and you 
really commits suicide—that’ll show ’im up proper, 
then, won’t it? The laugh’ll be with you, all right, 
won’t it ?” 

“And what good will that do me?” asked Wayfield 
coldly. 

“It’ll teach ’im a lesson any’ow,” returned Mr. 
Tridge. 

“Oh, I don’t think we want to go quite as far as 
that, not at present,” interposed Horace. “But, look 
’ere, chum, you be guided by me, and you’ll come out 
all right in the end, take my word for it!” 

“The idea of a nice long rest, I must say, is allur¬ 
ing.” 

“ ’Course it is,” asserted Mr. Dobb. “You take the 
chance while you’ve got enough interest left in life to 
’elp you through.” 

“But perhaps I could get a rest by—by being taken 
ill, or something like that ?” suggested Wayfield. 


226 


THE OLD FIRM 


“Out of tlie frying-pan into tlie fire,” said Horace. 
“The owner’s got a book about illnesses and a chest of 
medicine, don’t forget. There’s nothing ’e’d like bet¬ 
ter than to physic you according to ’is own ideas. No, 
me and Joe ’ave thought it all out, and what I’ve told 
you is your only ’ope.” 

“I believe you’re right, and I’m just about dead 
tired, so I can’t argue. I’ll trust to luck, and take your 
advice.” 

“You will? Wise feller!” approved Horace. “Why, 
your troubles is now as good as at an end. And don’t 
you worry about the young lady. Me and Joe will get 
word to ’er some’ow that you’re in ’iding and quite safe. 
All you’ve got to do is take life easy for a bit, and 
leave it to your pals—which is us chaps in the fo’c’sle 
—to watch your hinterests.” 

“And, of course, if you should want to make some 
little recognition-” murmured Mr. Tridge. 

“I’ll see that you don’t lose by it,” promised Way- 
field. 

“Meaning-” bluntly asked Mr. Tridge. 

“Well, we’ll see how it turns out,” replied Wayfield. 

“Good enough, and spoke like a gent!” commended 
Horace. “Though I must say, Joe, I’m surprised at 
you for worrying ’im about trifles when-” 

“Why, it was you - ” Mr. Tridge hotly began to 

defend himself. “Didn’t you say as we ought to-” 

“Well, when and where do I go into seclusion?” 
asked Wayfield. “And how do I get on about food?” 

“Don’t you trouble yourself about anything,” re¬ 
turned Mr. Dobb. “We've thought all that out for 
you. You’ll disappear to-night. ’Ow long you’ll stay 
’idden depends on ’ow things goes on. But me and 
Joe or one of the others will keep you supplied with 







THE OLD FIEM m 

food, and we’ll let you know regular ’ow matters is 
progressing.” 

Know that ’old for’ard—the big, deep one where 
the ’eavy stuff is stored ?” asked Mr. Tridge. “That’s 
where we’re going to keep you. There’s one or two 
spare sails down there, what you can make yourself 
comfortable on, and you can take some blankets down 
with you. You’ll be as snug as snug.” 

“Yes, I ought to be all right there. It’s fairly 
roomy, and there’s plenty of odd comers to hide in if 
anybody should come down there by chance.” 

“You go and get your blankets and things together,” 
directed Horace, “and slip down here first chance you 
get. You can leave the rest to me and Joe. There’s 
no need to write a farewell note, or anything like that. 
We’ll see to everything for you. You just get down 
there and keep there, and we’ll see you ’ave all the 
food and news you want. Soon as ever the coast is 
clear, each night, one or other of us will pay you a 
call. How, off you go!” 

Wayfield rose and stood hesitating a second or two. 
He yawned involuntarily, and movement of his aching 
arms and shoulders made him wince. Then he smiled, 
and, remarking that no further argument in favour of 
a rest was needed, he went out of the galley. 

“That’s settled , thank goodness!” said Mr. Tridge, 
and gustily sighed with relief. “What do you reckon 
it out to be worth to the signdikit, ’Orace ?” 

“Can’t say off’and—it depends. We may not give 
’im the chance of seeing ’ow Pidgett takes it. It may 
pay us a jolly sight better to smuggle ’im off the boat 
altogether, and leave ’im he’ind somewheres. We 
might even find it worth while to get ’im Shanghaied 
and sent foreign.” 


228 


THE OLD FIRM 


“Oh, well, I dare say you know best/' remarked Mr. 
Tridge, without the slightest sign of protest against his 
shipmate’s proposal. “Do as you think for the best, by 
all means, though I don’t see quite ’ow it would benefit 
us.” 

“Why, if the owner thinks a suicide really as been 
done on this boat, ’e’d be pretty certain to take a dis¬ 
like to it, wouldn’t ’e ? ’E’d vant to get rid of it, and 
then we might be able to come to very good terms with 
’im for it—’specially since we’ve got ’im in the ’ollow 
of our ’ands, so to speak.” 

“I see! ’E’d fancy we might turn King’s evidence 
against ’im, or something like that? Ah, ’Orace, 
you’re a deep ’un! I’d rather be your friend than your 
enemy, any day.” 

“It’ll take a bit of arranging, but we’ll manage it 
all right, if there’s ’alf a chance,” complacently de¬ 
clared Horace. “Anyway, we’ve made a good start by 
persuading this chap to disappear. Hext thing is to 
see that ’e’s safely stowed away in the ’old, and then 
I’ll talk to Sam and Peter and fix up the pro¬ 
gramme for to-night’s doings. 'For one night only,’ ” he 
ended, chuckling. “‘Special benefit performance in 
aid of ’Orace & Co.’!” 


CHAPTEB XX 


TT was a calm, muggy night, moonless and very dark. 

Captain Hutt, with his hack braced comfortably 
against the wheel, was but a deeper shade hulking 
vaguely against the blue-blackness. Mr. Samuel Clark, 
to speak euphemistically, was keeping watch up in the 
bows, and was quite invisible save during those brief 
moments when the upward glow from his pipe revealed 
the swelling curves of his plump cheeks and touched 
the end of his nose to a warmer red. 

All was silent on the “Jane Gladys.” The saloon 
lights had been extinguished early that evening, and 
no ray of illumination had come from any of the cabin 
port-holes for an hour past. 

It was just on midnight when, from the forecastle, 
there came the sound of a cough. It was not a dis¬ 
tressed cough, nor the casual easing of a dry throat, 
but a clear, deliberate cough, and, as soon as he heard 
it, Mr. Clark tapped his pipe out and grunted softly 
to himself. 

A minute later Mr. Horace Dobb coughed again, 
and at once quietude departed from the “Jane 
Gladys,” and her deck became a scene of crescendo tur¬ 
moil. 

“ ’Ere, hi!” bellowed Mr. Clark, stampeding tumul¬ 
tuously amidships. “ ’Ere, hi! Look out there! 
Whatcher doing? Hi!” 

“ ’Ullo!” cried the skipper, startled into complete 
wakefulness. “ ’Ullo! What’s the matter ?” 

Mr. Clark, still vociferating alarmedly, cantered to 
229 


230 


THE OLD FIRM 


the side and leaned over in an endeavour to peer 
through the surrounding darkness. 

“What’s the matter ?” called Captain Dutt. “ ’Ave 
you been dreaming, Sam ? What’s the matter ? 
What’s-■” 

“Didn’t you see ’im ?” shouted Clark. 

“See ’oo? See what?” 

“ Tm! I don’t know ’oo ’e was! I see ’im I Climbed 
up just ’ere, ’e did, and jumped overboard.” 

“I never see nothing,” returned the skipper. 

“I did. And I ’eard the splash, quite plain! Man 
overboard!” yelled Mr. Clark. “MAiT OVER¬ 
BOARD!” 

He seized a lifebelt and flung it overboard, hap¬ 
hazard. The skipper, vigorously plying the wheel, 
brought the “Jane Gladys’ ” head to the light wind, and 
the snail’s pace at which she had been moving fell 
away from her and she lay motionless on the inky 
water. 

“Man overboard!” again bellowed Mr. Clark, and 
continued so to bellow with a certain enjoyment. 

Mr. Dobb, in tactful deshabille, was the first to re¬ 
spond to the call, and Mr. Tridge and Mr. Lock fol¬ 
lowed close after him. They signalized their arrival 
by joining in the cry of “Man overboard!” with great 
gusto, but beyond that, they did little towards easing 
the situation. 

And then Mr. Pidgett appeared, barefooted and in 
pyjamas, and with an unexpected, archaic, red-flannel 
petticoat draped across his shoulders. 

Captain Dutt, making a megaphone of his palms, 
roared a sequence of orders, and the four comrades of 
the forecastle flitted divers ways in obedience to his 
instructions. Light after light sprang into being about 


THE OLD FIRM 


231 


the ship. From the davits a boat plopped on to the 
still surface of the water. 

Amid this panting, scurrying activity the figures of 
three ladies of the party appeared remotely and dis¬ 
creetly in the background, hut the form of Stanley 
remained absent from the stirring scene. 

Mr. Dobb and Mr. Tridge, at their skipper’s instruc¬ 
tions, tumbled into the boat. Mr. Tridge took the oars 
and began to pull away with a will. Horace, at the 
prow with a lighted hurricane lamp, swung its rays 
this way and that in scrutiny of the surrounding sea. 
In widening circles went the search party, the progress 
of its yellow beacon watched anxiously by all left on 
board. 

Mr. Lock, sidling along, ranged himself next to the 
owner and Captain Dutt, where they stood staring in 
strained silence at the distant lantern with its message 
of succour. 

“Poor fellow,” sighed Mr. Lock aloud. 

Mr. Pidgett flung a troubled, harried glance at the 
sailorman and then looked out into the night again. 

“Poor fellow,” repeated Mr. Lock, and sighed again. 
“Little did I think he meant it.” 

The owner, plucking agitatedly at his homely man¬ 
tle, forebore from speech. 

“I thought it was just a sort of burst of temper,” 
iwent on Mr. Lock. “I never took any real notice of 
It. If I had-” 

“Wh-what did he say?” queried Mr. Pidgett. 

“Well, I hardly like to tell you, sir,” said Mr. Lock* 

“Wh-wh-what did he say? I w-want to know.” 

“Well, he said something about not being able to 
stand it any more, sir. And he said he had a jolly good 
mind to make a hole in the water.” 



232 THE OLD FIRM 

“Oh, dear!” murmured Mr. Pidgett wretchedly. 
“Oh, dear!” 

“Yes, sir. And he said life wasn’t worth living and 
he had had enough of it. Just before he turned into 
his bunk that was. And he come and shook hands, 
very sorrowful, with me.” 

“You—you—you ought to have spoken at once 
about it to Captain Dutt.” 

“Ah, I know I ought to have—now, sir!” ruefully 
admitted Mr. Lock. “Only I was a bit sleepy, and I 
didn’t take particular notice. I dare say his face ought 
to have warned me, though. I shall never forgive 
myself for not taking more notice of him. Never. I 
can see his face now, all drawn and pale and tired 
and-” 

“Oh! what’s the good of talking about it?” cried 
the overwrought owner. “Why the devil didn’t you 
stop him? Why the devil didn’t Captain Dutt stop 
him ? What was he doing ? What the deuce was you 
thinking of, Dutt, to let him jump over ? Why could¬ 
n’t you-” 

“Begging your pardon, sir, but I never see nor ’eard 
’im,” replied Captain Dutt. “I’d got my mind fixed 
on the wheel, carrying out my dooty. Besides which, it 
was pitch dark and-” 

“Clark saw him, anyhow.” 

“Clark was look-out man. It was his dooty to see 
everything . I can’t steer, sir, and keep a look-out, too, 
on a night like this. First I knew what was up was 
when Clark begun shouting and flung a lifebelt over.” 

“Well, that ought to have warned you something 
was up.” 

“It did, sir. But it was too late then. If Clark 
’ad only managed to get to ’im before ’e jumped over¬ 
board-” 






THE OLD FIRM 


23$ 


“I suppose Clark was quite sure lie did see some¬ 
body jump over ? After all, it’s a dark night, and 
he might only have fancied it. How do we know the 
chap really went overboard? Clark might ’ave been 
dreaming it. There ain’t any proof he went overboard,, 
is there?” 

“Well, ’e ain’t 9 ere, is ’e, sir?” suggested the skip¬ 
per. 

“He might still be asleep in his bunk,” argued the 
owner, clearly clutching at hope. “It’s quite likely. 
He’d be sure to be a—a bit tired and sleepy. He 
might be lying snug asleep in his bunk this moment, 
and us making a lot of fuss without any reason for it. 
Did anybody look in his bunk to make sure ?” 

“Why, I never had time to, sir,” said Mr. Lock. “L 
come running straight up, soon as ever I ’eard-” 

“Then you go and have a look, now, at once. Go on! 
Hurry up! Don’t stand waiting about! Get off, at 
once, now!” 

Mr. Lock, departing, remained below for some while, 
and the owner, arguing the best from this, came back 
to something of his normal assertiveness. But Mr. 
Lock, returning presently, made the mournful state¬ 
ment that closest search of the forecastle had proved 
unavailing, and at these tidings, the owner openly in¬ 
dulged in a prolonged moan of lament. 

“Send up rockets! Do anything—everything!” he 
instructed the skipper. “There’s another boat, ain t 
there ? Why the dickens ain’t that launched, too ? Me 
and Lock and Stanley can go and look for ’im in that. 
Come on, man! Where’s Stanley ? Where the devil 
is Stanley ? Stariley l” 

“Mr. Stanley ain’t come out on deck, yet, sir,” said 
Mr. Lock. “At least I ain’t seen him nowhere. I 
suppose he hasn’t woke up yet.” 



234 


THE OLD FIRM 


“Not woke up? With a chap overhoard and- 

You go fetch him out! Fetch him out by the scruff 
of his neck, if need be! Here, Til go!” 

The short figure of the owner dashed towards Stan¬ 
ley’s cabin. Thundering on the panels with his fists, 
he roared incoherently. 

No answering call came from within. Mr. Pidgett 
put his shoulder against the door and turned the han¬ 
dle, and simultaneously thrust with all his might. 

Straightway he entered the cabin acrobatically, for 
the door had not been locked. 

Mr. Pidgett passionately picked himself up, shouting 
hostile things. The apartment was in darkness and he 
stumbled to the switch and turned on the light. 

“Now then, you skulking little-” he began, and 

stopped short. 

The cabin was empty. 

As once an enraged Berserker may have fought an 
elusive foe, so now did Mr. Pidgett’s fiery gaze dart 
this way and that. The bed lay neat and smooth, the 
furnishings of it quite undisturbed. No trembling 
Stanley hid cowering behind the door. 

Mr. Pidgett flung open the wardrobe, but his son 
was not concealed therein. Mr. Pidgett stooped and 
peered beneath the bed, but no splendid youth had 
availed himself of that refuge. 

Mr. Pidgett turned to leave. A note, tucked into the 
edge of the mirror, caught his gaze. 

He pounced on it and snatched it open. 

"Father ” ran the missive, “1 absolutely cannot 
stand your treatment of me any longer. You have 
'positively driven me to it. When you get this, it will 

be too late. Good-bye. , 

* “Stanley.” 




THE OLD FIRM 


235 


The paper fell from Mr. Pidgett’s trembling fingers, 
and he looked up, blinking. For a time he stared 
blankly at his reflection in the mirror, and then bent 
and picked up the note and began to read it again. 
The flannel petticoat slipped from his shoulders to the 
floor, and with it there went every vestige of comedy 
from him. He was just a stricken old man, grey and 
haggard, and very frightened. 

“My boy!” he whispered. “Oh, my boy! Stanley ? 
Oh, my boy, my boy!” 

He turned and stumbled back to Captain Dutt. 

“It was my son that Clark saw,” he told him. “My 
Stanley! He—he’s made away with himself! It was 
him!” 

“But the other chap, sir—Smith—he’s missing!” 

“My Stanley,” murmured the owner unheeding. 
“My boy! Here’s the letter. Look!” 

Meanwhile, down in the hold, Wayfield, hearkening 
to the movement on the deck above, had gradually be¬ 
come aware of a nearer, gentler noise. For a long time 
he kept motionless, listening, perplexed by this rhythmic 
sound in the darkness. 

At last he crept forward quietly. 

“Who’s there?” he asked. 

Ho answer came, but still the soft sound persisted. 

“Who’s there?” asked Wayfield again, a little louder. 

He waited a moment and then cautiously struck a 
match. 

The light spluttered up to show him Mr. Stanley 
Pidgett fast asleep on a heap of empty sacks in a 
corner. 


CHAPTEB XXI 


S TAHLEY stirred uneasily in his slumber as the 
light fell across him. A moment after, he opened 
his eyes and saw Way field, and he shrank back in 
sleepy consternation. 

“I—Pm not going to-” he began, when the 

match suddenly went out. “I won’t-” he said fret¬ 

fully, and then was silent. 

There followed a long wait in the darkness, and at 
last Way field struck another match. 

"It is you,” muttered Stanley. “I thought perhaps 

I’d been dreaming and-” 

"I’ve got a hit of candle here,” remarked Wayfield. 
“We might just as well settle to a conference now and 
get it over. I hate talking in the dark; you never 
know whether the other chap is making faces at you 
or not.” 

He fumbled in his pocket and found the candle, and 
soon the two young men were staring at each other in 
its pinkish illumination. 

“And now,” said Wayfield, settling himself cross- 
legged on the floor opposite to Stanley, “what are you 
doing here?” 

“Well, what are you doing here ?” hedged Stanley. 
“Look here, we’ll play this game cards upwards on 
the table. Had you any idea I might be here ?” 

“Ho, I hadn’t. If I’d known you were here, I 
shouldn’t have come here myself.” 

“Keally ? But why seek solitude in this dismal hole 
236 




THE OLD FIRM 


237 


when you have a luxurious private cabin of your own 
to retreat to? You haven’t turned anchorite, have 
you? You don’t mean to say you’ve taken to the se¬ 
cret wearing of a hair shirt, and that sort of thing?” 

“Do you mean those Jaegar affairs? I don’t quite 
understand you,” complained Stanley. 

“And I don’t understand you at all. Why have you 
left your snowy cot to sleep fitfully upon a pile of 
prosaic and somewhat soiled sacks ?” 

“Look here, I’m not all fool all the time,” said 
Stanley. “I see what your game is. You’re trying 
to tie me up and confuse me with a lot of words, so 
that I won’t have time to start wondering what you’re 
doing here till you’ve decided just how far it will he 
safe for you to answer me.” 

“Quite right,” cheerfully admitted Wayfield. “I 
want to know what you are doing here before I give 
myself away. What are you doing ?” 

“Well, I’ve, as it were, run away.” 

“Well, I’m hanged!” exclaimed Wayfield. “So have 

I.” 

“If you want to know, I’m utterly fed up with the 
pater’s temper. Positively! Oh, absolutely!” 

Wayfield, leaning forward, extended his hand, and 
Stanley, glad to find any sort of sympathy, took it. 
Ceremoniously the pair shook hands. 

“He’s been treating me perfectly awfully these last 
few days,” asserted Stanley. 

“Same here,” said Wayfield. 

“And I’m trying to teach him a lesson.” 

“I’m engaged on a similar educational scheme,” said 
Wayfield. “These confessions are clearing the air won¬ 
derfully. It is already established that we are comrades 
in distress—that we are withdrawing ourselves from 


238 


THE OLD FIRM 


Mr. Pidgett’s rather annoying activities, and that we 
desire to instruct him by practical experience. Lit¬ 
erally and metaphorically, we are both in the same 
boat 75 

“I say, you do keep on jockeying ! 77 remarked Stan¬ 
ley. 

“I have to. Yon see, I don 7 t quite know how I 
stand with you. I have a pretty shrewd idea that 
you 7 ve at least one mighty big grudge up against me. 
But really your father is as much to blame there as I 
am. He ought to have had you taught boxing . 77 

“Oh, that 7 s what you’re getting at! But, absolutely, 
I 7 d almost forgotten it. I 7 ve had a lot more to think 
about since that. I own I felt pretty savage towards 
you for a day or two—oh, positively murderous! But 
the pater—well you know how he drives pretty well 
everything else out of your head when he starts going . 77 

“And while he keeps it up! Then I can take it that, 
at the moment, you don’t feel completely viperish to¬ 
wards me?” 

“Ho, I don’t. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking 
lately. You know, not just sort of sitting with your 
eyes shut, but absolutely thinking. Jolly hard work it 
is too! I’ve begun to understand what it means to be 
up against the pater. Look here,” said Stanley, with 
a rare burst of feeling, “sometimes when I’ve heard the 
pater going on at you lately I’ve felt jolly sorry for 
you. I have!” 

“ ‘A fellow feeling , 7 77 commented Wayfield. “Like¬ 
wise, ‘one touch of nature . 7 Very good of you.” 

“And then, of course, there’s Hora,” mentioned Stan¬ 
ley awkwardly. 

“Yes, there is,” agreed Wayfield, sitting erect 

“Well, you know, she’s a fearful nice girl, and all 


THE OLD FIRM 


239 


that sort of thing. I like her awfully. But she doesn’t 
cotton to me a bit, you know. Well, I mean, if she 
doesn’t want me—I mean, she’s not the only girl in 
the world, is she ? Well dash it! a fellow with my ad¬ 
vantages and prospects-” 

“Exactly! There’s thousands of girls would jump 
at the chance of being your wife.” 

“That’s what I think,” said Stanley gravely. “But 
the mater and pater don’t seem to see it. They keep on 
insisting on me tagging after Nora. Well, I mean, 
what’s the good? She’s not a bit likely to change her 
mind. And if she did, I’d never feel really flattered 
to think of all the trouble I had getting her to change 
it. I’d have let her go her own way, long ago, if my 
people hadn’t kept bothering me so. But I’ve finished 
now. She’s not keen on me, and I’m dashed if I’m 
going to hang about on a hopeless job any longer.” 

“Very wise of you. Also, speaking as an interested 
party, may I say I’m very much obliged to you ?” 

“Besides,” added Stanley plaintively. “I don’t 
want to get married. Plenty of time for that, later on. 
I—I don’t see why I should be bully-ragged and chased 
into it, just to please other people. That’s one of the 
reasons why I’ve hidden myself down here, just to give 
the pater a shake-up, and let him see that he’s driven me 
too far. Oh, absolutely over the limit! And the way 

he’s been treating me is-” 

“’Sh!” warned Wayfield, and extinguished the 
candle, as the end hatch was gently lifted and a figure 
began to descend the iron ladder. 

“You there ?” whispered the voice of Mr. Dobb. “Oh, 
there’s a fine old schemozzle going on! Firework dis¬ 
plays, and goodness knows what! Me and Joe ’ave just 
got back from a little circ’lar tour in the boat, searching 




240 


THE OLD FIRM 


for your ’orrid remains! All we’ve found is tlie life¬ 
belt old Sam chucked over. Oh, a very sad bit of hevi- 
dence! And Peter Lock and old Pidgett is still out in 
the other boat, ’eading for Australyer to search for 
you, by the look of ’em! You’re safe enough ’ere, but 
I thought I’d just look down and tell you ’ow things 
was going.” 

“Thanks,” said Wayfield. “It’s nice to think one is 
missed when one has gone.” 

“The pup ain’t missed you, anyway,” returned Mr. 
Dobb. “ ’E ain’t even come out of ’is cabin, as far as 
I can see. I would have thought young Stanley would 
’ave ’ad a bit of ’eart, even if ’e ’asn’t a bit of sense, 
wouldn’t you ?” 

“Heah, I say, look heah-” exclaimed Stanley. 

“Lor!” ejaculated Mr. Dobb, and hastily scratched a 
match into the light. “Mr. Stanley? You here?” 

“We’re the babes in the wood,” said Wayfield. “By 
a strange coincidence both he and I have chosen this 
place and this evening to evade Mr. Pidgett’s eloquence. 
I must admit he was here before I arrived, though. In 
a way, I’m his guest.” 

“Phew, this is a bit thick!” stated the cook. “Two 
suicides in one night! They’ll take a bit of explaining 
away!” 

“I left a sort of note,” said Stanley. “I didn’t 
exactly say I’d committed suicide. I left that to be, as 
it were, inferred, don’t you know.” 

“But—but ’ow are you going to come to life again ?” 
asked Horace. “You can’t afford to stop here, sir, not 
with a rich father like you’ve got.” 

“Oh, naturally! Well, my idea is to stay here till 
we go into harbour, and then I’ll slip ashore, and put 



THE OLD FIRM 


241 


in town for a week or two, and then I’ll spring myself 
on the old boy.” 

“Ah, and ’e won’t ’alf say things to yon neither!” 
sapiently foretold Horace. “Why, when ’e finds ont the 
trick you’ve played on ’im, ’e’ll be worse to you than 
ever!” 

“You—you don’t really think so? I—I never 

thought-” 

“You’ve made a bungle of it, sir,” said Horace. 
“You ought to ’ave bided your time and left ’im when 
you was ashore. You could ’ave marched off hinde- 
pendent after a quarrel with ’im then, and before long 
’e’d ’ave been advertising. ‘Come back, all is forgiven’ 
in the papers. As it is, ’e thinks you’re drowned, and 
when you pops up again one day ’e’ll think you’ve made 
a proper fool of ’im, and then-” 

“Well, perhaps I ought to have tried to stick it a bit 
longer. I can see your way is best now.” 

“Oh, ’course it is! Besides which, you’re butting in 
this chap’s chance, and like as not you’ll spoil it alto¬ 
gether for ’im. Best thing you can do, sir, is to slip 
back to your cabin and tear up the note, and pretend 
you never woke up.” 

“By gad, I think that’s what I’d better do!” 

“Yes, and you must promise not to say anything 
about what this chap’s up to, and ’e’ll promise not to give 
it away what you intend to do first chance you get.” 

“Oh, I’ll agree to that willingly!” returned Stanley. 
“I mean, the pater being such a jolly old brute all 
round, the more there are trying to tame him the bet¬ 
ter it’ll be in the end, won’t it? Oh, I won’t say a 
word! And I’ll get back to my cabin now at once. 
And thanks for your advice.” 




242 


THE OLD FIRM 


“Don’t mention it, sir,” said Horace, and in the dark¬ 
ness his hand sought and found Wayfield’s and pressed 
it in token of relief. “Better let me go up first, sir, 
and see if the coast is clear,” he added, and remounted 
to the deck. 

“Well, I fancy we both understand each other a hit 
better now,” observed Wayfield. “And I wish you 
luck!” 

“Thanks awfully, and all that sort of thing. And 
the same to you, and—and that sort of thing.” 

Stanley groped his way forward to the foot of the 
iron ladder and stood there waiting. 

“ ’Ere, it’s no good!” Horace’s voice suddenly pro¬ 
claimed in a whisper. “The owner’s got that letter! 
The skipper’s just told me. The owner’s ’alf mad with 
worry. ’E’s gone off with Peter Lock, and ’e’s left word 
for me and Joe that there’s a ’undred pounds reward 
if your life’s saved!” 

Horace clambered hack to them and stood breathing 
excitedly in the dark, making little, wheezy, disjointed 
mutterings and indubitably gesturing freely to encour¬ 
age his thoughts. 

“Oh, it’s fell out the simplest thing that ever was!” 
he declared at last with enthusiasm. “And you’ll hear 
me out that it’s nothing to do with the signdikit, won’t 
you ? It’s me what’s going to earn that ’undred 
pounds, and me alone, for my own self! Don’t you see 
how easy it makes everything? A ’undred pounds for 
me, a chance for Mr. Stanley to prove to ’is pa that 
’e ain’t going to put up with ’arsh treatment any longer, 
and a chance for you to win the old chap’s gratitude 
and make ’im only too pleased to fall in with everything 
you want.” 


THE OLD FIRM 


243 


“It sounds fairly comprehensive,” said Wayfield, 
with eager interest. “What do you propose ?” 

“You follow me and leave everything for me to see 
to. Mrs. Pidgett’s ’aving ’isterics in the saloon, with 
Miss Barton and Mrs. Brockway looking after ’er, and 
Joe Tridge and Sam Clark is furling sails up for’ard, 
and the skipper is ’elping ’em. You follow me. You 
won’t he seen, and I’ll soon put things right for you.” 

He shepherded them to the deck and directed them to 
lower themselves to the boat, which still awaited be¬ 
neath the ladder. This move accomplished unobserved, 
the cook entered the boat too and softly rowed away. 

“How then, over you both go,” he ordered, when 
they were out of the zone of the light cast by the “Jane 
Gladys.” “It’s no good jibbing, it’s got to he done. 
You can’t get ’alf drowned without getting a bit damp, 
you know.” 

“Oh, so that’s the idea!” said Wayfield. “I don’t 
know that I altogether care about it. I don’t mean the 
cold water, but the scheme itself. Hardly the straight 
game, is it?” 

“It’s ’ardly the straight game you’re playing down in 
the ’old,” retorted Horace. “It’s a bit late now to be 
particular. You’re ’elping yourself, and you’re ’elping 
me, and you’re ’elping Mr. Stanley, so you can’t very 
well back out of it. Think of the scrape ’e’s in if you 
don’t ’elp ’im.” 

“Yes, come on,” begged Stanley, and began to lower 
himself carefully over the boat’s side. “Brrh, it’s 
cold!” 

“That sounds encouraging,” said Wayfield. “How¬ 
ever, let’s hope we’ll all feel happier when it’s over. 
Here goes!” 


244 THE OLD FIRM 

He dived neatly from the stern, and came up gasp¬ 
ing. 

“Hot so much noise/’ requested Horace. “You’re 
exhausted and hunconscious, both you and Mr. Stan¬ 
ley. ’Ere, ’ave you wetted the top of your ’ead, Mr. 
Stanley ? You’ve got to he thorough on this job, you 
know, sir. Well, now, ydu ’ang on to this lifebelt with 
one ’and, Smith, and ’ang on to Mr. Stanley with the 
other. That’s right. And when we get hack to the 
ship you must both shut your eyes and faint, and leave 
me to tell the story my own way. How, off we go hack.” 

He rowed till the “Jane Gladys” was within a score 
of yards, towing the lifebelt and it’s load with a short 
length of cord. 

“Saved! Saved!” bawled Horace assertively. 

Captain Dutt, shouting excitedly, came rushing to 
the side of the “Jane Gladys” to look over. 

“I thought I see something,” called up Horace, “so 
I nipped back into the boat and went to look. And 
there they both was, ’anging on the lifebelt, quite un¬ 
conscious and pretty nigh dead-beat.” 

The skipper, performing prodigies of daring activ¬ 
ity, came down the ladder and helped to draw the im¬ 
mersed pair from the water. Assisted by Mr. Tridge, 
the skipper and Mr. Dobb succeeded in pushing and 
hoisting the dead-weights of Stanley and Wayfield to 
the deck above. 

Within three minutes both of them were in their re¬ 
spective beds, snug under great heaps of blankets, and 
imbibing heartening draughts, while Captain Dutt was 
joyfully signalling to the second boat to return. 

It was Mr. Dobb who met the owner, as soon as ever 
that worthy set foot again on the deck. 

“Mr. Stanley’s safe and well, sir,” he informed him. 
“I see something and it turned out to be the lifebelt 


THE OLD FIRM 


245 


old Sam chucked overboard, and there was Mr. Stanley 
and Smith ’anging on to it. Both dead-beat, they was. 
Smith managed to tell me ’e saw Mr. Stanley go over¬ 
board, and ’e dived in after ’im, and got to ’im but 
the cold paralysed ’em both, and they’d ’ave gone down 
for sure if they ’adn’t come across the lifebelt floating 
by at the very moment.” 

Mr. Clark, hearkening close by, thrust his way for¬ 
ward. 

“Well, then, it was me what saved Mr. Stanley,” he 
cried. “I chucked that lifebelt, didn’t I ? Very well, 
then, if there’s a reward going—as I believe there is, 
Mr. Pidgett, sir, with all due respect—it’s me that 
ought to ’ave it.” 

“Ah, but your lifebelt was no good!” argued Mr. 
Dobb promptly. “They was already starting to slip) 
from it when I got to ’em. If it ’adn’t been for me get¬ 
ting to ’em just when I did they’d both ’ave been 
drowned by now.” 

“That be blowed!” indignantly countered Mr. Clark. 
“It was my lifebelt that kept ’em up till you came, 
wasn’t it? If there ’adn’t been a lifebelt you’d ’ave 
’ad your journey for nothing!” 

“Well, and what good would your lifebelt ’ave been 
if Smith ’adn’t ’eld Mr. Stanley up till they managed 
to get ’old of it ?” 

“Well, it seems to me,” ventured the skipper, “that 
Smith was the man ’oo really saved Mr. Stanley. 
But-” 

“It was my lifebelt,” obstinately claimed Mr. Clark. 

“It was me getting to ’em in the boat,” contended 
^Horace. “S’pose I ’adn’t seen ’em at all—where would 
they be now ?” 

“Fair’s fair, and you ain’t going to do me out of 
my rights,” exclaimed Mr. Clark. “Why, you’d never 



246 


THE OLD FIRM 


’ave seen ’em if it ’adn’t been for my lifebelt, so now 
then!” 

“Besides which,” stridently put in Mr. Tridge, “it 
was me what pointed ’em out to you, cookie! Surely 
you ain’t going to deny that? I reckon I deserve a 
share-■” 

“Well-” breathed Horace, aghast at such rapac¬ 

ity. 

Mr. Pidgett, who had been listening bewilderedly to 
this battle of claims, suddenly managed to grasp the 
slack of his overstrained emotions and bring them 
tauter. 

“We’ll settle the question in the morning,” he said. 
“I want to see my son now. Where is he, poor lad? 
And then I’ll come down and see his—his rescuer and 
apol- I’ll come down and see him.” 

This promise he carried out a few minutes later. Mr. 
Dobb had installed himself as nurse to Wayfield, and 
was following everything with sharp eyes and a tongue 
suavely ready with explanations. 

“Yes, sir, Vs awake, sir,” he said at the owner’s 
rather bashful advent into the forecastle. “Only I 
wouldn’t talk to ’im too much, sir. ’E’s very hex- 
hausted.” 

“I want to thank him,” replied the owner, and held 
out the palm of friendship towards Wayfield. “He’s 
done me a very, very great service. I’ve just been to 
see my poor boy, but he’s too weak to talk. He just 
laid there with his eyes shut all the time. I’ve given 
Dutt orders to stand into the nearest port at once for 
a doctor. And as for you, Wayfield, is there anything 
I can do to show my gratitude? Any mortal thing? 
Ask, man, don’t be afraid!” 

“I asked you something once before,” Wayfield re¬ 
minded him. 




THE OLD FIRM 


247 


“Yes, you did! And I—but everything is different 
now. You shall marry my niece, and as soon as ever 
you like. There! And I’m sorry for the way I’ve 
treated you, and—well, Stanley—he’s my only child 
and-” 

His voice broke and he passed his hand across his 
eyes. 

“Ho, I’m dashed if I do!” cried Wayfield, struggling 
up in bed. “I’m hanged if I want to win Hora that 
way.” 

“I think Mr. Pidgett, sir,” exclaimed Horace in 
alarm, “you’ve stayed ’ere long enough. The patient’s 
getting delirious!” 

“Look here, I’ve gained your permission under false 
pretences, sir. It was all a put-up job! Heither your 
son nor I was ever in the least danger of getting 
drowned to-night. We fixed it all up to hoodwink you 
and-” 

“ ’E’s raving!” wailed Horace. “Raving! I thought 
I could see it coming on!” 

“I may be all that you’ve called me these past few 
days,” said Wayfield. “But I’m not going to win Hora 
by a trick. I’m going to play the straight game for 
her, and I warn you that I’ll stay in the field till I do 
win, clean and square. I don’t suppose you’ll love me 
any the more for confessing that this rescue business 
was a fake. However, now you know, so you can re¬ 
start your tyranny all over again, if you like. I don’t 
mind. I shall stick it. It’s worth it. I shall win in 
the end. I mean to, and I shall! But it’ll be a fair 
win. I promise!” 

Mr. Pidgett, without another word, swung round and 
left the forecastle. The voice of Horace rose up in 
shrill lament and bitter rebuke. 




CHAPTER XXII 


»T Tl ? you’re wanted in the saloon!” said Mr. Tridge, 
n rousing Wayfield next morning. “The owner 
wants to speak to you. Xot ’alf, ’e don’t, I bet. There’s 
one of them steely, steady, thoughtful looks in ’is eye. 
If you was a hoy, I’d recommend you to look round for 
something to pad yourself with before you got too close 
to ’im.” 

Wayfield, dressing quickly, went up on deck to find 
the “Jane Gladys” berthed against the tiny stone jetty 
of some river-side fishing village. Passing on, he 
rapped at the door of the saloon and, in response to a 
gruff voice, stepped into the presence of the owner. 

Mr. Pidgett was seated at the table with an array 
of letters and documents before him. At the entry of 
Wayfield he put down his pen, folded his arms, and ac¬ 
corded the young man a prolonged stare from beneath 
his bushy eyebrows. 

“You will leave this boat at midday,” he announced 
at last. “The railway station is about a mile outside 
the village, they tell me, and you can get a train there 
to London at about one o’clock.” 

“Very well,” said Wayfield. 

“You don’t seem greatly upset ?” 

“I’m not. I expected worse. In fact, I had an idea 
you might have thought of something new and compli¬ 
cated in connexion with me and scrubbing brushes and 
stove pipes. I’m quite relieved sir, I assure you.” 

“I should have thought that dismissing you like this 
248 


THE OLD FIRM 


249 


would have had the opposite effect. It settles your hash 
pretty completely, don’t it?” 

“Oh, dear me, no!” replied Smith. “After all, it 
is your turn to score a point, isn’t it ? Then comes my 
turn again.” 

“Pooh! what more can you do ?” 

“I don’t think I’ll answer that question, sir. In the 
first place, I’d he telling you what to expect. In the 
second place, I don’t know what more I can do, at the 
moment. But I’ll find something else to try, that you 
can depend on, sir. Sorry to he a nuisance to you, hut, 
you see, the stake is so tremendously important to me. 
I intend to keep on and on till I do win!” 

“So you had the confounded impudence to tell me 
last night. And that reminds me, who thought out that 
precious scheme—you, or Stanley, or that cook chap ?” 

“I take full responsibility for it, sir.” 

“Oh, you do ? Yes, I might have thought that you’d 

he the one to- Wait a hit. I didn’t ask you who 

took the responsibility. I asked you who thought it 
out ? Come now, the truth!” 

“I’ve told you I take full responsibility, sir,” replied 
Wayfield, a little stiffly. “It wasn’t a very decent 
scheme, I’ll admit, and perhaps, if we’d thought more, 
none of us would have tried to carry it out. But no 
harm has come of it. And, after all, I was the one that 
gave it away in the end, so I’m the one that ought to 
suffer by it.” 

“Was it Stanley’s idea?” suggested Mr. Pidgett. 

“Yo, it wasn’t! Poor little devil, he was far too 
hazed and worried to plan out anything like that. He 
saw he’d made a mistake in pretending to—well, he 
saw he’d made a mistake, and he jumped at the chance 
of getting back without being bullied out of his life 



250 


THE OLD FIRM 


over it. That’s all he had to do with the scheme, and 
I’m going to risk saying this, sir—it was you whd 
drove him to it. He’s only a boy—quite a boy 
and-” 

“Never mind about that,” growled the owner. 
“We’re not talking about me and my bringing up of 
Stanley. I want to know who was responsible for the 
trick you tried to play on me. If it wasn’t Stanley, 
was it Dobb?” 

“I’ve told you I take full responsibility. I don’t 
see why you should think I’m likely to turn informer 
against anybody. When I join in anything, and the 
band starts to play over it, I’m always ready to face 
the music.” 

“It was that blessed cook.” 

“Really, sir, you mustn’t jump to conclusions. You 
did so once before, I believe, with regard to the—the 
Marquis of Brighton, wasn’t it? If the excellent Mr. 
Dobb participated in our ill-advised little scheme, may 
I ask you to think that he did so only after I had suc¬ 
ceeded in persuading him that he was helping your 
son out of an awkward corner?” 

“You can ask me to think so, but I won’t—not for 
a moment! You’re shielding him and-” 

“And I leave the ‘Jane Gladys’ at midday. Isn’t 
that enough ? I seem to be the cause of all the trouble. 
Surely if you remove me, there’s no need for others 
to sutler too ?” 

“Quite the hero!” sneered Mr. Pidgett. 

“I’d like to think so, sir. The stern relations always 
say ‘Bless you, my children’ to the heroine and the 
hero at the end of the play.” 

“The play’s already over, so far as you’re concerned.” 

“No, sir, only the end of the first act.” 




[THE OLD FIRM 


251 


“I tell you tlie play is over.” 

Wayfield shrugged his shoulders and stood silent. The 
owner, leaning back in his chair, again surveyed him 
steadily. 

“You leave this boat at midday,” said Mr. Pidgett. 
“You cease to be a member of the crew. Don’t you 
ever let me see you going down the fo’c’sle again after 
this morning. You will catch that train to London 
without fail. Next week, when you come hack on board 
the Mane Gladys’-” 

“What, sir?” cried Wayfield. 

“When you come back on hoard the Mane Gladys’,” 
repeated the owner, “you come back as my guest.” 

“But—hut-” 

“I ain’t going to say a lot,” interrupted the owner. 
“You’ve heard about folks having hitter pills to swal¬ 
low? Well, I’m chewing a bitter pill. But I ain’t 
going to stand in the way of you and Nora any longer. 
It ain’t what I’d ’oped and it ain’t what I intended, but 
maybe it’ll all turn out for the best, after all.” 

“I—I don’t quite know what to say, sir, or how to 
thank you. Nora-” 

“I’ve done a hit of thinking these last twelve hours, 
and seen things from different points than my own. I 
tell you this now, but I ain’t at all the sort ever to talk 
about it again—understand? You’ve stood up to me 
fair and square, and wasn’t going to win by a trick, 
was you? Well, that’s the sort of chap I can’t help 
admiring, though I ’ate him all the time. And then 
again there was the way you warned me you was going 
to stay in the game till the end. I liked that. That 
was grit. That was pluck. And—well, if you and 
Nora are so set on each other-” 

“Oh, we are, we are!” 






252 


THE OLD FIRM 


“I’d more than half made up my mind when I sent 
for you this morning. But I just wanted to see. So 
you wouldn’t give Stanley or the cook away, eh ? My 

lad, if you had - But I guess I just knew you 

wouldn’t.” 

The owner rose, on an impulse, and came round the 
table with outstretched hand. 

“I fancy you’ll do,” he asserted. “A chap like you 
ought to make my niece a pretty fair kind of husband. 
Oh, I dare say I’ll get over my disappointment soon 
enough. Maybe you’re the kind of a chap I’ve been 
hoping Stan would turn out, only he’s still quite a kid, 
as you say. I’ve been expecting too much from him, 
and that’s proved a disappointment for both of us. But 
I’ll try an easier track with him for a bit, and see how 
that goes. Dammit!” he went off suddenly, “ever read 
a book called the ‘Christmas Carol’ ? Remember old 
who-was-it ? Scroogius ?” 

“Scrooge.” 

“That’s the chap! Blessed if I don’t feel just like 
him this morning. Sprt of lighter and ready to do 
anything for anybody. He went through a pretty bad 
night or two, you remember. Well, last night, I —oh, 
well, we was all to blame, and we needn’t say any more 
about it. So you’ll just catch that train, and come 
back next week. It’ll make a break of it, and you can 
start on a fresh footing with the crew, and—and now, 
if you wait here a moment, I’ll send Rora in to you.” 

He gripped Wayfield’s hand again, shook it, and went 
to the door. Then he came back, smiling and gesticu¬ 
lating at the spread of papers on the table. 

“I got a bit of influence,” he said. “You’ll have to 
get another pint of red ink and a second ruler before 



THE OLD FIRM 


253 


long. PH see you’re kept busy. You’ll belong to tbe 
family by then. No reason why yon shouldn’t become 
my right-hand man and—but you don’t want to talk 
business now. You want to see Nora.” 

He bustled out, and a few moments after the girl 
came into the saloon, standing just inside the doorway, 
a little shyly, but with a wonderful light in her eyes. 

Wayfield leaped forward—and closed the door be¬ 
hind her. . . . 

Mr. Samuel Clark, who had been lurking amidships 
with a mop, shook his head in annoyance at this evi¬ 
dence of Wayfield’s presence of mind. Immediately 
suspending his labours, he repaired to the galley. 

“ ’E’s got ’er!” he announced tersely. 

“No!” ejaculated Horace. “How do you know?” 

“I see ’is face when ’e shut the door,” returned Mr. 
Clark. “And, before that, I see the owner shake ’ands 
with ’im, and then come out and send Miss Barton to 
’im.” 

“That ought to be worth a bit to ‘ ’Orace & Co.’,” 
declared the cook elatedly. “ ’E’s bound to tip ’is old 
shipmates something pretty substantial after that. Be¬ 
sides, I reckon ’e as good as owes me a ’undred pounds. 
If ’e ’adn’t spoke up so foolish last night I’d ’ave a 
’undred pounds in my pocket by now for saving Stan¬ 
ley’s life.” 

“Oh, no, you wouldn’t!” denied Mr. Clark quickly. 
“It was my lifebelt what done the trick, wasn’t it ? 
Very well, then, I’m entitled to ’alf that ’undred pounds 
at least; and if you think you’re going to keep it in 
your pocket, you’re mistook. You ’and it over!” 

“Why, I ain’t got it, you old stoopid. No one ain’t 
got it, nor likely to get it now. Smith, or whatever ’e 


254 , 


THE OLD FIRM 


calls ’imself, properly give tlie game away. Robbery 
that’s wbat I calls it. ’E ’ad no right to do me out of 
a ’undred quid what I’d earned by my own efforts. 

a It was me - ” began Mr. Clark, with heat, when 

the cook interrupted him. 

“What’s the good of talking about it ?” asked Horace. 
“It’s gone, and there’s a end of it. Our only ’ope is 
that Smith makes it up to us a bit. I did my best to let 
’im see that that way ’is dooty lay last night. I didn’t 
’alf give ’im a talking to when the owner ’ad gone. In 
the end, ’e told me to shut up, unless I wanted a black 
eye.” 

“Then what ’appened ?” 

“Well, I ain’t got a black eye this morning, ’ave I ?” 
returned Horace. “Still, I must say that, up to now, it 
ain’t turned out quite so bad as I been expecting. I 
been trembling in me shoes all the morning, waiting for 
the owner to send for me. But ’e’s left it a bit long 
now, so ’e can’t be going to take it so very serious. And 
if' ’e’s consented to ’is niece marrying Smith, ’e can’t 
be in such a bad temper by now.” 

“Mind you, I ain’t a bit surprised at the hengage- 
ment,” said Mr. Clark. “I been hexpecting some sort 
of noos of that kind ever since last Sunday week. Me 
right ear was tickling all day that day, and that’s al¬ 
ways a sign of a wedding.” 

“So I’ve ’eard,” agreed Horace. “But ’ow did you 
know this was the wedding it meant ? Why, it might 
’ave foretold a wedding between you and Mrs. Brock¬ 
way, for that matter.” 

“Don’t talk so ridic’lous,” impatiently begged Mr. 
Clark. “Why, me and ’er don’t scarcely speak to each 
other now. Ever since ’er second cousin come along at 
Plynhampton and showed me ’ow to get peace with 


THE OLD FIRM 


255 


honour, ’er and me are strangers, as it might be. Why, 
when I passed ’er the other day, I ’eld my nose so ’igh 
and mighty in the air that I fell over a mat! A wed¬ 
ding between me and ’er, indeed! Don’t you talk about 
unpleasant things, ’Orace, if you please. Or, if you 
must, let’s talk about that ’undred quid you tried to 
diddle me out of.” 

“I never tried to diddle nobody out of it, except, may 
be, the owner. Why, if I’d got that ’undred quid, I was 
going to put it straight into the funds of the sign- 
dikit.” 

“The signdikit!” scoffed Mr. Clark. “A jolly fine 
signdikit it is too! ’Ere ’ave we been ’anging on for 
weeks, waiting for a chance, and you going about look¬ 
ing like—like Lord Rothschild and Wellington and the 
Chancellor of the Hexchequer all rolled into one, and 
what’s the blessed signdikit done all this time? Noth¬ 
ing ! I’m beginning to be sorry I ever let you beg and 
persuade me to leave my comfortable little ferrying job 
ashore.” 

“The signdikit ain’t done so bad,” stated Horace. 
“Apart from the money me and Joe and Peter Lock 
are ready to put into it at the right time, we’ve made 
thirty quid, ain’t we ?” 

“We’ve made thirty quid, one way and another, out 
of Smith, but that ain’t what we set out to do, was it ? 
We was going to try and see if we couldn’t some’ow 
manage to get ’old of the Mane Gladys’ for our own 
property, wasn’t we ? And where are we now ? Why, 
as far off from it as ever. And, besides, there ain’t 
much more to be ’oped for from Smith now, is there? 
A feller after a girl is a dashed sight freer with ’is 
money than the chap ’oo’s got ’is gal safe and sound, 
and that’s ’uman philosophy, ain’t it ? Love is blind, 


256 


THE OLD FIRM 


right enough, hut the expenses of setting up a ’ome 
nowadays conies as a eye-opener and no mistake.” 

“You may he right, Sam, hut you’re a miserable old 
man, all the same,” returned Horace. “We’ve still 
got to get a joy-offering from Smith, don’t forget. 
That’ll he the end of ’im, as far as we’re concerned, 
and then the signdikit can get to work on its original 
programme. Don’t you worry, Sam; I’m the ’ead of 
this signdikit, and I ain’t asleep.” 

“I know you ain’t,” replied Mr. Clark restively. 
“What worries me is that you he’aves as if you was.” 

Mr. Dohh was still groping for a satisfactory retort 
when the galley door opened and Mr. Joseph Tridge 
entered. 

“ ’Eard the noos ?” he asked. “Smith’s down helow 
in the fo’c’sle packing up ’is things. ’E’s leaving the 
boat to-day and going hack to London, ’e tells me. And 
the owner ’as consented to ’im marrying Miss Barton, 
and ’e’s coming hack again next week as a guest on 
hoard.” 

“Packing up, is ’e?” quickly asked Horace. “In 
that case I think I’d better go below and ’ave a word 
with ’im. ’E’s hound to he in a good temper. I’ll just 
go and congratulate ’im on he’alf of the crew.” 

“I’m coming with you,” said Mr. Clark firmly. “I’m 
a member of the crew; and a member of the signdikit, 
too,” he added pointedly, “and I ain’t taking no more 
risks. I can’t hafford to lose a ’undred pounds every 
day.” 

“ ’E won’t he going for a ’alf hour or so,” observed 
Mr. Tridge. “And I’ve got some more hits of noos yet. 
The owner and ’is missis and the skipper ’ave been 
talking things over pretty free on deck. A rare good 
temper the owner is in this morning. Patted young 


THE OLD FIRM 


257 


Stanley on the back twice, ’e did, and asked ’im ’ow ’e 
was off for money, just like a blessed old Father Christ¬ 
mas ! And the skipper’s got a uncle or something liv¬ 
ing in these parts, and the owner ’as give ’im a couple 
of days off to go and see ’im. We’re stopping in ’arbour 
’ere for the next three or four days. And Mister Stan¬ 
ley ’as ’ired a motor-car and gone off to. one of them 
fashionable seaside towns, somewhere by, till to-night.” 

“Better than a noospaper, you are, Joe,” declared Mr. 
Dobb. “I’ve dropped many a worse newspaper than 
you in the gutter, after reading the result of the three 
o’clock race.’ ’ 

“Mrs. Pidgett ain’t a bit upset over the engagement,” 
continued Mr. Tridge. “She says she see that Stanley 
ain’t really the marrying sort—not yet—and that she 
took a fancy to Miss Barton’s young man right from 
the first. She says she only ’opes they’ll ’urry along 
the wedding, so as to give ’er a chance to get hack ’ome 
and make the preparations. Tired of going about the 
sea, doing nothing, she said she was.” 

“She said that ?” asked Mr. Dobb. 

“She did. Said so, straight out, to the owner. Said 
that she’d never really cared for the sea, not even when 
she was a little gal, and that now she’d ’ad so much of 
it that she wouldn’t mind if she never saw it again so 
long as she lived. And she and Miss Barton are going 
by the evening train to London, to look at fashion- 
plates, far as I could understand, and they’re not com¬ 
ing back again till next w T eek.” 

Mr. Dobb authoritatively raised his hand for silence. 
Lighting a cigarette, he sat on the corner of the table 
and puffed in close cogitation. 

“Listen, Joe,” he ordered presently. ’Ave I got it 
right ? Smith and Mrs. Pidgett and Miss Barton and 


258 


THE OLD FIRM 


the skipper, won’t any of ’em be on the boat to-night ? 
And Mr. Stanley won’t he back till late, of course? 
There’ll only be us four and the owner and Mrs. Brock¬ 
way on the boat to-night till Stanley comes hack ?’ 9 
“That’s right,” corroborated Mr. Tridge. “Why?” 
Mr. Dobb nodded portentously at his two shipmates. 
“Looks very much to me,” he said, “as if our time 
was come. The signdikit is going to ’ave it’s chance at 
last!” 


CHAPTER XXIII 


TXTO the orderly and placid existence of the “Red 
J- Dragon,” that ancient hostelry so conveniently adja¬ 
cent to the little jetty, had permeated a stirring, stimu¬ 
lating influence, and, though the evening was still 
young, already the low, smoke-blackened ceiling of the 
taproom was reverberating with joviality. 

According to their custom, the sailormen of the “Jane 
Gladys,” berthed hard by, had taken it upon themselves 
to furnish the company with lively entertainment. 

True, the opening of the programme had been none 
too auspicious. Mr. Peter Lock had started the pro¬ 
ceedings with a comic song, droll enough in its way, hut 
phrased in metropolitan idioms which conveyed hut 
little meaning to this gathering of simple villagers. 
Wherefore, then, had the ditty fallen very flat, and at 
its close Mr. Lock had sulkily sat down again amidst an 
awkward silence, and with the audience looking dis¬ 
tinctly embarrassed. 

This, in itself, was a bad enough beginning, hut Mr. 
Joseph Tridge, in his zeal to uphold the prestige of the 
confederacy, had contrived to give an even worse turn 
to the situation, for he had irately started up and 
roundly offered to fight anyone who thought Mr. Lock’s 
song was not funny. 

This challenge had imposed a discomfortable strain 
upon the amity of the meeting, and two of the inhabi¬ 
tants were already starting to edge inconspicuously to¬ 
wards the door when Mr. Samuel Clark, declining to 
be robbed of his chance to shine as an artist, loudly 


260 


THE OLD FIRM 


announced that he was going to do a dance, and stood 
up forthwith and did it. 

Thenceforward the programme went with a swing. To 
mollify Mr. Tridge the spectators rewarded Mr. Clark’s 
agility with liberal plaudits. Mr. Clark, in return for 
these tributes, capered and pranced and cavorted till 
he was completely out of breath. 

This gave Mr. Lock opportunity to sing again, and 
this time he chose a sentimental ballad as more likely 
to meet with local comprehension, though the company, 
still keeping a wary eye on Mr. Tridge, persisted in 
laughing immoderately at every line. 

And, next, Mr. Clark and Mr. Tridge danced a grave 
pas de deux, with Mr. Clark affecting to be a lady and 
voicing comments on the gentlemen present in a high, 
mincing falsetto. After that Mr. Lock had supplied a 
song, unmistakably comic, about homely things familiar 
to all, and had gone on to extemporize a most diverting 
ventriloquial entertainment. 

And so time was passing most enjoy ably, with Mr. 
Lock and Mr. Tridge and Mr. Clark making unstinted 
endeavor to enlive the company. But Mr. Horace Dobb, 
the fourth member of the quartet of strangers, sat aloof, 
broodily, taking no heed of the prevalent good humour. 

From time to time one or other of his shipmates 
would approach him and ask him if he had thought of 
anything yet, but always Mr. Dobb shook his head with 
a certain impatience and glared with more and more 
hostility at the big clock on the wall. \ 

It was in the little wait which ensued while the three 
talented performers made pretence that they were quite 
unaware that liquid refreshment had been ordered for 
them that a gnarled and bewhiskered aborigine entered 
the room. 


THE OLD FIRM 


261 


“Tidy thick mist a-settling down,” lie observed. 
“Yon won’t be able to see yonr band before yonr nose in 
a couple of hours’ time, look you. As thick as ever I’ve 
knawed it this ten year. Just such a night as that 
when the ‘Carnarvon Maid’ was burnt, when she lay 
off the Head yonder. Just such a night, inteet, yess.” 

As though this speech paid his levy for entrance to 
the company, he took his seat in a corner and gave his 
undivided attention to his surroundings. Mr. Dobb sat 
staring at the old man, and gradually the cook’s lips 
began to open wider and wider under the stress of ris¬ 
ing excitement. 

A minute later Mr. Dobb voiced an ardent expression 
of satisfaction, and, after a further short space of 
thought, began to rummage in his pockets. Bringing 
to light a theoretically unsullied fragment of note-pa¬ 
per and a pencil, he carefully indited a few lines. Then 
he folded the paper and left the inn with it. 

He came back quite soon and beckoned to his ship¬ 
mates. The resumed concert immediately lapsed, and 
Mr. Dobb led his shipmates outside to a deserted stretch 
of the quay. 

“Sam, I just give a kid a penny to take a note to 
Mrs. Brockway from you,” he said. 

“From me T’ shrilled Mr. Clark. “Well, there’s im- 
perence! There’s interferingness for you! Whatever 
made you do it?” 

“Get ’er off the boat,” explained Mr. Dobb. “I said, 
‘Meet me in front of the chapel in ten minutes. All 
will be forgiven. Yours respectful.—Sam Clark.’ ” 

“All will not be forgiven!” denied Mr. Clark em¬ 
phatically. “And what did you make it a chapel for ? 
That’s bound to give ’er a chance to start talking about 
weddings and things.” 


262 


THE OLD FIRM 


“There’s no call for you to keep the appointment. 
You can easy tell ’er later on that it was a practical 
joke, and point out that the note ain’t in your ’and- 
writing.” 

“Never mind about smoothing old Sam down,” 
struck in Mr. Tridge. “Tell us what the idea is, ’Orace. 
; What do you want ’er off the boat for ?” 

“Fire on hoard the Mane Gladys’,” returned Mr. 
Dobb, in the manner of one reading newspaper head¬ 
lines. “Boat narrowly hescapes being a complete 
wreck. Saved by the ’eroism of the crew. Gallant res¬ 
cue of the owner.” 

“What’s all that mean ?” asked Mr. Lock. 

“What I says. A fire’s going to break out on-” 

“Oh, I see!” exclaimed Mr. Lock. “And we does 
the insurance company down for a hit as a reward? 
Not a had idea.” 

“We don’t want to ’ave nothing to do with insurance 
companies,” said Mr. Dobb. “They’re a nosey, inquisi¬ 
tive, suspicious lot! But suppose the Mane Gladys’ 
was to catch fire to-night. Where should we stand 
then?” 

“In the dock, like as not,” answered Mr. Lock. 

“Not a hit of it,” returned Mr. Dobb. “Suppose we 
was to put the fire out ?” 

“Where’s the sense of lighting a fire and putting it 
out again?”’ inquired Mr. Clark, perplexed. 

“Suppose a fire broke out and the ship was aban¬ 
doned? Suppose we saved the owner’s life and rowed 
away with ’im?” propounded Mr. Dobb. “And sup¬ 
pose we made up our minds to go back to the fire and 
try to put it out ? Suppose we did put it out ?” 

“Well, suppose we suppose all that ?” said Mr. 
Tridge. “What then?” 



THE OLD FIRM 


“Well, it’ll be a funny position, won’t it?” asked 
Horace. “Look ’ere, the owner’s wife is sick of the 
boat already, and I shouldn’t be surprised if he was be¬ 
ginning to ’ave ’ad enough of it by now. Well, if 
there’s a fire, and we save ’is life, and put the fire out 
after the boat’s been abandoned, that gives us a claim 
to salvage and ’is gratitude and goodness knows what 
else. Very well, then, when it’s all over, we goes up 
to ’im and s$ys we’d like to buy the old boat between 
us, and we offer ’im all the money we’ve got.” 

“And promise to owe ’im a bit more into the bar¬ 
gain, if ’e likes,” said Mr. Tridge. 

“Yes; well, ’e thinks of all the complications about 
the claim for salvage of a deerlict ship, and putting out 
the fire, and saving ’is life, and what not and so on. 
And in the end ’e meets us more than ’alf-way. ’E’s 
bound to. The more you think it over the more you 
see ’e’s bound to do ’is best for us.” 

“But ’ow are you going to save ’is life? ’Ow are 
you going to put out the fire? ’Ow are you going to 
start it? ’Ow are you going to prevent folks on the 

jetty from-” his shipmates began to assail him in 

chorus. 

“You leave it all to me,” requested Mr. Dobb. “It’s 
that old chap talking about a ship on fire on a misty 
night like this put the idea in my ’ead, and the rest 
I’ve worked out for myself. There’s only one thing I 
wants, and then we’re free to begin—just one little 
thing needed, as a present for the owner.” 

“A present for the owner?” asked Mr. Tridge. 
“What’s that ? Chlorryform ?” 

“Ho, a lobster!” leered Mr. Dobb, and tapped his 
forehead. “I’ve got it there,” he boasted. “I never 
forget things. 



264 


THE OLD FIRM 


In a community where the principal industry is the 
plucking forth of fish from its native element, the pro¬ 
curing of a lobster was not a matter that presented 
great difficulty. Indeed, at the second cottage to which 
they were directed the four sailormen were enabled to 
secure what they sought. 

From first to last the completion of the purchase, 
with all the imputations and denials and grudged ad¬ 
missions attendant on bargaining, occupied less than 
five minutes. Yet, in that short space of time, some¬ 
thing had happened aboard the “Jane Gladys” which, 
had he known it, would have given Mr. Horace Dobb 
cause for more thought. 

For Mr. Stanley Pidgett had been importuned by the 
driver of the hired motor-car to return^to the village 
before the mist enveloping the whole coast became so 
opaque as to render speedy transit dangerous. Stan¬ 
ley, finding the delights of the seaside town beginning 
to wane, and still being prone to a weariness as the 
result of the last few days’ nerve strain, had willingly 
consented to early departure, and had thus made a pre¬ 
mature return to the “Jane Gladys.” 

He found the boat very still and quiet. The saloon 
door was open, and he caught a glimpse of his father 
immersed in correspondence. Experience had long 
taught the youth that there was grave risk in intruding 
on his sire in such hallowed moments, and therefore he 
had gone softly straight to his cabin. With intention 
to join his father at a later and more favourable oppor¬ 
tunity, he had flung himself on his bed, and there he 
was already dozing when Mr. Dobb and his companions 
bore the lobster in triumph to the galley. 

“There’s no light in Mrs. Brockway’s cabin,” oh- 


THE OLD FIRM 


265 


served Mr. Dobb with satisfaction. “It’s all right! 
She’s keeping that appointment outside the chapel with 
you, Sam. I ’ope you’re enjoying it.” 

“More than I should if I was there,” ungallantly 
replied Mr. Clark. 

Deftly Mr. Dobb severed the lobster and placed it on 
a dish with alluring garnishings. 

“Don’t ever tell me there ain’t a providence what 
’elp those what ’elps themselves,” piously said Horace 
as he took a new loaf from the bin. “No-o!” 

He cut the bread in slices, buttering it generously. 
Then, setting all neatly on a tray, he made his way to 
the saloon with it. 

“Just brought you a snack for your supper, sir.” 

Mr. Pidgett, engrossed in his letters, nodded. 

“I forget whether the missis said it was lobster you 
ought to ’ave, or ought not to ’ave, sir,” said Mr. Dobb. 
“It’s a lovely fresh one, but if you don’t care for it 
you can easy leave it.” 

“Eh ?” exclaimed Mr. Pidgett absently, and glanced 
up and caught view of the contents of the dish. “What’s 
that ? Lobster ? Ugh, take it away, man! Poison to 
me! Take it away!” 

Mr. Dobb, in some despair, picked up the tray again. 
Mr. Pidgett permitted himself another, longer look at 
the dish. 

“All right!” he grunted. “You can leave it!” 

Mr. Dobb, repressing an impulse to cheer, withdrew 
empty handed, and positively danced back to the 
galley. 

“We’ll allow ’im a few minutes’ grace and then-” 

he began. 

“ ’Ush!” whispered Mr. Tridge. “ ’Ear them foot- 



266 


THE OLD FIRM 


steps? That’s the old geezer coming back again. 
There’s a impatient old woman for you. Why couldn’t 
she ’ave waited a bit longer ?” 

“ ’Ere, Sam, out you go and ’ead ’er off!” ordered 
Mr. Dobb. “Tell ’er you missed ’er in the fog, and ’ad 
come back ’ere to look for ’er. Tell ’er anything! Go 
on! We don’t want no one crying and spying aboard 
’ere for a bit.” 

“I ain’t going!” asserted Mr. Clark. “No fear!” 

“Oh, don’t say that, Sam!” appealed Mr. Dobb 
wildly. 

“I do say it! I’m done with ’er for good and all, 
thanks be! Besides which, you chaps will all go doing 
things while I’m not there, and do me out of the bene¬ 
fits of being in the signdikit! I know you!” 

Vehemently Mr. Dobb babbled forth promises, but¬ 
tressing and supplementing them with tremendous 
oaths of fealty to Mr. Clark’s interests, and Mr. Lock 
and Mr. Tridge added their perfervid persuasions. 

“Very well, I’ll go,” said Mr. Clark at last. “Just 
for this once, mind! This the very last time I’m going 
to play with fire to ’elp the signdikit! Understand 
that ?” 

“If you don’t go at once there won’t be no signdikit,” 
urged Mr. Dobb. 

“Oh, well, if I’m as himportant a member as that,” 
said Mr. Clark, “I reckon I ought to ’ave two shares!” 

He appeared desirous of debating and settling this 
point at once, but his distraught companions hustled 
him through the door and held it shut against him. 

“Two shares at least,” he said firmly, through the 
keyhole. “Come to think of it, I don’t know as three 

wouldn’t be more-” He stopped and his voice took 

a fuller, suaver tone. “Oh, there you are, Mrs. Brock- 



THE OLD FIRM 


267 

!way, ma’am ? I been looking all over tbe place for yon.” 

She answered with some asperity, and Mr. Clark’s 
next speech flowed in even mellower, more soothing 
accents. His shipmates heard him say something about 
finding a spot where he could explain without being 
listened to by a pack of greedy eavesdroppers. Fol¬ 
lowed, the shuffle of footsteps receding over the gang¬ 
way, and next, the diminuendo voice of the plump sail- 
orman. Then silence, draped at its end with expres¬ 
sions of the galley’s intense relief. 

Mr. Pidgett, setting aside an empty tray a little 
later, looked up to find Mr. Tridge and Mr. Lock in 
the doorway. 

“Begging your pardon, sir,” opened Mr. Tridge, “but 
do I understand as the skipper won’t be back this eve¬ 
ning? If so, it’s a bit unfortunate.” 

“Why, how’s that ?” asked the owner sharply. 

“Well, sir, they’ve been explaining things to me 
ashore,” replied Mr. Tridge. “This ’ere ’arbour is very 
pecooliar, it seems. We appear to ’ave chose a very awk¬ 
ward spot ’ere. Eight-down risky our berth is, so they 
tells me.” 

“Eisky, when we’re tied up to the jetty?” demurred 
the owner. “Pooh, that’s absurd on the face of it!” 

“Yes, sir, on the face of it, it is,” agreed Mr. Tridge. 
“But you look a bit deeper and you’ll see that it ain’t. 
The wind being where it is, and the tide running with 
a scour- 

“And the cross-current at the ’arbour mouth,” added 
Mr. Lock helpfully. 

“Together with a gravel bottom to the river-” 

went on Mr. Tridge. 

“To say nothing of the mist-” 

“What the deuce are you driving at ?” demanded Mr. 




268 


THE OLD FIRM 


Pidgett. “You know I don’t understand all this sea- 
talk. Tell me what you mean in plain English! What’s 
all this jabber about currents and tides and winds 
now ?” 

“Well, sir, it means as a vessel of our size is most 
likely to get jammed up against the jetty at ’alf-tide, 
and then be ground mighty nigh to bits as the water 
goes down. Of course, you not being a sailorman, sir, 
can’t understand that, but-” 

“Well, can’t you see to it? Must you come and 
bother me about it ? Can’t you put it right ?” 

“Of course we can, sir,” replied Mr. Lock. “Only 
we want your permission first. The remedy is easy 
enough. We’ve just got to drop down careful on the 
tide and stand out to sea a mile or so. We can anchor 
there and ride safe till morning, and then we can come 
back in ’ere again, if you like. And, after we’ve shifted 
out to-night, one of us can row back ashore and wait 
on the jetty for Mr. Stanley and bring him aboard.” 

“All right, all right!” concurred Mr. Pidgett, some¬ 
what testily. “Do what you think is best and don’t 
come worrying me when I’m busy. And take this con¬ 
founded tray away with you, and shut the door behind 
you.” 

Returning to their leader, Mr. Lock and Mr. Tridge 
reported progress. Their success was gleefully ac¬ 
claimed by Mr. Dobb and, without further delay, the 
three shipmates gave themselves to the task of conduct¬ 
ing the “Jane Gladys” out to sea. 

Very quietly and carefully did they proceed in all 
their operations. Horace and Mr. Tridge, toiling man¬ 
fully in one of the boats, towed the vessel out into the 
open water, their labours facilitated by the ebbing tide 
and a favouring wind. 



THE OLD FIRM 


269 


Mr. Lock kept control of the wheel, and, when a good 
mile out to sea, the two oarsmen clambered hack aboard 
the vessel. The anchor splashed into the water and the 
“ Jane Gladys” floated motionless on the mist-en¬ 
shrouded surface. 

“There we are!” exclaimed Horace. “It’ll take any¬ 
body all their time to see what we’re up to now, and 
start interfering with our programme. I’ll just pop 
along and see ’ow the owner’s getting on, while you, 
Joe, ’unt around and get a couple of them big zinc 
baths and take ’em down into the ’old. And, Peter, 
you find up some old damp straw and a few noospapers 
and a pint or two of paraffin ile.” 

Knocking at the entrance to the saloon, Mr. Dohb 
intruded his head and said something about seeing if 
Mr. Pidgett wanted anything else. The owner, peering 
at the cook awhile out of lustreless eyes, shook his head 
and made a weary gesture of dismissal. 

“Safe as houses, Joe!” jubilantly announced Mr. 
Dohb, hurrying hack to his shipmates. “Properly 
doped! Get down the ’old, Peter, and ’elp Joe start 
them bonfires, like I’ve explained to you. Be careful 
not to do any damage. We can fix up all the damages 
realistic when we comes back again to put the fire out.” 

Mr. Pidgett, in the saloon, was sitting hack in his 
chair in a lumpish attitude. Prom time to time a faint 
moan escaped his lips, and frequently he raised his 
hand to draw the hack of it across his forehead. A. 
cigar, which he had lighted in the hope of allaying cer¬ 
tain qualms, rested on a corner of the table, neglected, 
its smoke ascending in a graceful, wavering spiral. 

“Oh, dear! oh, dear!” suddenly lamented Mr. Pid¬ 
gett, in more acute malaise, and he began to heat his 
fists upon his chest with some violence. 


270 


THE OLD FIRM 


The action jarred the table, dislodging the cigar. It 
dropped into the centre of a mass of crumpled papers 
in the waste-basket standing below, and a brisk floor- 
draught at once encouraged its glow. 

But Mr. Pidgett was too preoccupied to notice any¬ 
thing of this mishap, and he continued violently to 
assail his chest until, abruptly, his energy waned and 
he lay back, heavy and distressed, in his chair. 

And this was his state when Mr. Dobb unceremoni¬ 
ously rushed in and, placing a hand at the side of his 
mouth, began to bawl aloud with extraordinary vigour. 

“Fire!” shouted Mr. Dobb. “Fire! The blessed 
ship’s afire, and there ain’t a moment to be wasted if 
you wants to get away alive. FIRE!” 


CHAPTER XXIV 


M R. PIDGETT, looking up woefully at this dire 
outcry, sighed and grunted fretfully and fell 
again to silent introspection. 

“FIRE!” repeated Mr. Dobb imperatively. 

“Gurr!” growled Mr. Pidgett. “Go away!” 

“You got to let us get you out of this while we can, 
sir,” said Horace. “A regular roaring furnace 
and-” 

“Oh, do go away!” requested Mr. Pidgett. “Don’t 
come bothering me! Go away! I can’t move! Leave 
me alone!” 

“I ain’t going to leave you ’ere to be roasted alive,” 
returned Mr. Dobb heroically. “Hot while I’ve a 
breath left in my body. .You trust yourself to me. I’ll 
see to you!” 

He caught hold of Mr. Pidgett’s arm and dragged 
him to his feet. The owner, protesting almost tearfully 
against this action, made feeble, futile efforts to hit 
the cook with his uncaptured hand. Undaunted, Mr. 
Dobb half-led, half-dragged Mr. Pidgett to the open 
door. 

“Look at that J” cried Horace, and pointed dramatic¬ 
ally. 

And, indeed, the scene was worthy of the gesture. 
Erom the hold great billowing clouds of smoke were 
ascending to swerve into and mix with the cleaner white 
of the mist. The air was fraught with a rank, choking 
odour. Ever and anon a leap of unseen flame turned 
271 


272 


THE OLD FIRM 


the vapoured air to a golden yellow and testified to 
Mr. Lock’s skill as a creator of striking effects with a 
can of oil and a newspaper. 

“S’fire,” said the owner, gazing owlishly on the 
dread spectacle. 

“It is a fire!” returned the cook; “and it’ll he all 
over this blessed ship in a minute. We can’t do noth¬ 
ing with it. ’Ere, Feter!” he called, as Mr. Lock came 
climbing out of the hold. “Can we put it out, do you 
think ?” 

Mr. Lock tersely mentioned another fiery region as 
far more likely to be quelled by their efforts. 

“There you are. ’E knows! ’E’s been down there!” 
said Mr. Dobb ambiguously. “Come on, sir, there ain’t 
a moment to be wasted if you’re to get away safe.” 

“I don’t know,” said the owner; “I don’t know that 
I want to get away!” 

“Oh, please, sir, that won’t do! Of course you must 
get away. Me and Peter and Sam ’ave launched the 
boats. We’re only waiting for you to give the order 
to abandon ship. And don’t ever forget you give us 
that order, sir. It’s most important. We shall ’ave to 
keep on reminding of you. How, sir—‘Abandon ship’,” 
he prompted. 

“ ’Bandon ship,” echoed Mr. Pidgett mechanically, 
and at once he was picked up in Mr. Tridge’s strong 
arms and, while still he was making weak complaint 
against this unfeeling act, he found himself in one of 
the boats. 

“Off you go with ’im, Joe,” whispered Mr. Dobb. 
“Me and Peter’ll keep alongside of you in the other 
boat. Best allow a goodish time before we go back, in 
case ’e’s able to notice a bit more than we think ’e does. 
’E’ll get worse afore ’e’s better, so there’s no ’urry. 


THE OLD FIRM 


273 


Besides, if we goes back too soon ’e might come to ’is 
senses momentary, and then where should we be ?” 

Side by side the two small boats put out into the 
mist. Mr. Pidgett, subsiding on to the floor-boards, 
was solicitously covered with a coat by Mr. Tridge. 

“Don’t want ’im to catch a chill,” muttered Mr. 
Tridge to himself, in apology for such tenderness. 
“Don’t want ’im to peg out, nor nothing like that—not 
till ’e’s squared up with us, anyway.” 

For a full half hour the two boats were silent and 
motionless. Then suddenly Mr. Dobb vented a cry of 
alarm. 

“ ’Ere, I never noticed which way we was pulling,” 
he exclaimed. “This blessed fog is so thick you can’t 
’ardly see a yard. Whereabouts is the old boat lying ? 
Don’t say we’ve lost ’er, Peter ? Don’t say that!” 

“No, she’s over there,” replied Mr. Lock. “I’ve kept 
the line all right in my mind. Might as well be getting 
back to ’er, I should think!” 

Even as he spoke, a faint, pinkish tinge suffused the 
mist in the distance. 

“Oh!” gasped Mr. Dobb. “O-oh!” he repeated in 
still greater concern. “Look! See! Blessed if the old 
Mane Gladys’ ain’t been and really took fire now!” 

Guided by the tiny roseate glow, both boats began to 
race back to the vessel. The distance, however, proved 
greater than had been imagined, and gradually the 
glow weakened and then vanished altogether, leaving 
the two boats groping helplessly in the mist, rowing now 
this way and now that, in vain effort to discover the 
vessel. 

Wearied and exhausted, they gave up the struggle at 
last. 

“Not a bit of good,” puffed Mr. Dobb. “We’ve been 


274. 


THE OLD FIRM 


all over the place, and we don’t know which way we’re 
pointing ourselves now.” 

“We shall have to stick ’ere till daybreak,” growled 
Mr. Tridge from the neighbouring boat. “We don’t 
even know where the coast is now. If we tries to row 
ashore we might be ’eading straight out to sea, for all 
we know.” 

“The old boat’s burned ’erself right out and sunk,” 
declared Mr. Dobb. “There’s a nasty end for the poor 
old Mane Gladys’!” 

"And for the signdikit!” sighed Mr. Tridge deso¬ 
lately. 


And now narrative must heel and tack to pick up Mr. 
Stanley Pidgett, else a notable personality were left 
behind jettisoned and forgotten, in the final straight 
run for harbour. 

When last that elegant boy came under heed, he had 
lain himself down on his cabin bed, and there he had 
very soon yielded to sleep. He was still but a sleek and 
futile youth when his eyes closed. When he rose again 
from his rest it was to become a man of action and cour¬ 
age, a flame-lit hero, a veritable epic figure amidst the 
red ruin which sought the vessel’s destruction. 

So completely tired was he by the day’s pleasure and 
the week’s stress that the turmoil leading to the depart¬ 
ure of his father and the crew had not had the power 
to rouse him to full consciousness. He had stirred and 
murmured at the shouts and footsteps on the deck, but 
lately he had come to the habit of awesome, adventur¬ 
ous dreams, and these noises now incorporated them¬ 
selves therefore into his nightmare. 

And so he turned over on his mattress and was soon 


THE OLD FIRM 


275 


fast asleep again, nor did lie reawaken till a loud shiv¬ 
ering of glass and the sound of some heavy object fall¬ 
ing disturbed his repose. For a little while he lay half 
awake, perplexed and listening. Then, by degrees, he 
became aware of a peculiar acrid smell. 

Grumpily, he anathematized the crew’s taste in to¬ 
bacco and once more settled himself to sleep. But now 
a phenomenon obstinately obtruded itself on his notice. 
His cabin should have been in utter darkness, and yet 
it seemed to flicker with gentle light, rather like the 
rays of a kinema lantern in its rapid intermittency, but 
yellow in colour. 

In no way did this alarm him, but it annoyed him. 
He resented it as a deterrent to slumber. It was only 
when another thud and a queer kind of crackling sound 
reached his ears that he came to perfect wakefulness. 

He leaped from his couch and rushed out on deck. 

At once he discovered that the saloon was well and 
truly in a blaze. It needed no great perspicuity to dis¬ 
cover that fact, for already one of the large skylights 
had fallen in and little blue tongues of flame were rel- 
ishingly licking the empty framework. Also, a fat col¬ 
umn of fire was rising in the centre of the saloon, and 
making determined effort to find an exit through the 
painted splendour of the ceiling, while the silken hang¬ 
ings down one side of the apartment were already be¬ 
come no more than charred and smouldering fragments 
clinging to the metal rails. 

Some atavistic quality moved Stanley to phrase his 
emotions in the style of the Pidgetts who had never 
known wealth and refinement. 

“Coo ? lumme!” cried Stanley, staring. 

It is to his credit that instinctively he raced along 
to his father’s cabin, but that was empty. He even 


276 


THE OLD FIRM 


remembered to bang and kick at Mrs. Brockway’s door, 
bnt no answering squeal rewarded him, and be flung 
open the door and found that she, too, was absent. He 
turned and rushed down into the forecastle, agitatedly 
fluting a general alarm, but here, likewise, he found no 
response. 

He ran to the gangway and found that it had been 
drawn in, and next learned, to his vast surprise, that 
the vessel was no longer laying against a jetty. 

Panic-stricken at his isolation in this moment of 
danger, he began to trot about, looking for the boats, 
but they were both gone. A lifebelt came under his 
wildly-roving gaze, and he snatched it from its hook 
and ran towards the ladder with it. 

And then he stopped and looked back at the burning 
saloon. A point of flame had pierced its way through 
the ceiling and was now leaping up, up, a beacon of 
disaster; the skylight frame was blazing and crackling 
fiercely. 

Stanley’s next act stands as inexplicable and difficult 
to credit. He deliberately squared his chin. 

“May as well have a try, anyhow,” he said, aloud, 
and experienced surprise at hearing himself voice such 
sentiment in so determined a tone. 

He became extraordinarily active. There were fire- 
buckets and chemical extinguishers aboard in great pro¬ 
fusion, and these he fetched and threw on the flames 
with undiminishing energy, if with varying success.. 
And after these aids were exhausted there was all the 
Water in the sea at hand for supply, and a bucket with 
a length of rope to it for apparatus. 

Puffing and panting, running backwards and for¬ 
wards, leaping and sometimes sprawling over unseen 
obstacles on the deck, Stanley fought frenziedly for vie- 


THE OLD FIRM 


277 


tory. A whirlwind of activity was he amid the flames 
and smoke, and all the time he was also, as it were, 
standing apart and watching and marvelling at a Stan¬ 
ley quite strange and unexpected to him. 

And after an age, he was heartened by some symp¬ 
toms of surrender in the enemy. The flames grew less 
and less, dwindled in vigour, and died down to evil¬ 
smelling smoulderings and charrings. Inspired, he 
fetched a leathern coat which was his armour and glory 
when motor-cycling, and with this garment he heat out 
the last sullen flames and trampled the sparks into dark¬ 
ness beneath his feet. . . . 

And thus you may vignette him in final triumph, dis¬ 
hevelled and grimed and blackened, with a badly-burned 
arm and a cut on his cheek, and his long hair in the 
most shocking disorder. The erstwhile gorgeous saloon, 
now a melancholy, reeking wreck, serves as a fitting 
background to him as, dead-beat, he lapses into the 
only undamaged chair in the room and looks about him 
dazedly. 

And again heredity asserts itself. 

“A proper old how-de-do!” he mutters. “ ’Strewth, 
but it was a blinkin’ close shave! The guv’nor—the 
guv’nor and the old lady—they’ll—they’ll ” 

His chin drops forward on his chest and he 
sleeps. . . . 


Singularly cold and cheerless did the three lest mar¬ 
iners find the dawn. A breeze, gathering strength, grew 
with the daylight and blew away the mist by perceptible 
degrees. 

Presently sight could travel through the bleak light 
for a hundred yards or more. 

“Well, I’m blessed!” shouted Mr. Tridge, pointing. 


278 


THE OLD FIRM 


“There’s the old boat all the time! We’ve been lying 
right close to ’er for hours, without knowing it.” 

They made for the “Jane Gladys.” Mr. Pidgett, 
waking from an uncomfortable doze, wanly eyed the 
ship. 

“I shall be glad to be rid of her,” he said. 

“I don’t know what ’er state’s like, sir,” said Mr. 
Tridge eagerly, “but if you want to sell ’er, me and the 
cook and Sam Clark and Peter Lock will make you a 
offer for it. We could come to terms, I’m sure, if you’d 
talk it over, soon as we get aboard, with ’Orace, sir. 
Hi, ’Orace,” he could not forbear from calling across, 
“the owner’s ’ad enough of the old Mane Gladys’ and ’e 
wants to sell ’er!” 

“I have had enough of her,” said Mr. Pidgett. “I 
don’t think I care for the sea. Put I don’t want to sell 
the Mane Gladys’ all the same.” 

“But, sir-■” pleaded Mr. Tridge. 

“Why, I couldn’t sell her if I wanted to,” stated Mr. 
Pidgett. “Hot now I’ve promised her to my niece and 
her future husband as a wedding-present. They’ll soon 
be able to afford to keep her. Til see to that!” . • . 

At the end of the week, in the snuggest corner of the 
snuggest tap-room in Shorehaven, Mr. Samuel Clark 
and Mr. Peter Lock and Mr. Joseph Tridge sat in 
pleasant dalliance with their pipes and glasses. 

“Ah! ’oo’d ’ave thought, five days ago, that us chaps 
would be sitting in the Molly Sailors’ at Shore’aven on 
Saturday night!” observed Mr. Clark. 

“And the old Mane Gladys,’ with ’er innards all 
charred, lying in a yard ’undreds of miles away to be 
repaired and redecorated ?” said Mr. Tridge. “It must 
’ave been a pretty big blaze while it lasted. And to 


THE OLD FIRM 


279 


think of young Stanley putting it out single-handed. 
But didn’t ’is pa make a fuss of ’im, eh V> 

They won’t fall out for a long time now, them two,” 
prophesied Mr. Clark. “Young Stanley’s learned a lot 
of sense off of us, what’ll stand ’im in good stead in 
future. Oh, ’e’ll be all right when ’e grows up. Not 
a bad kid, I dare say, when the varnish peels off.” 

“Lucky they never found our little firework display 
in the ’old,” mentioned Mr. Tridge. 

“No fear!” said Mr. Lock. “I nipped down and 
got rid of the evidence, quick, while the owner was 
still fussing over Stanley. I didn’t forget it, you 
bet!” 

“Forgot me and Mrs. Brockway, though, didn’t 
you ?” asked Mr. Clark. “We waited and waited, you 
know, and then I got ’er a room at the ‘Red Dragon,’ 
and I come back to the jetty, and went on waiting. I 

couldn’t think what was up, and- Ah, ’ere’s ’Orace 

at last!” 

Something very like a subdued cheer flattered Mr. 
Dobb as he crossed the room to his three shipmates. 

“Funds of the signdikit, ’Orace!” Mr. Clark at once 
reminded him. “We’re all ’ere and waiting.” 

“The funds is all right,” said Mr. Dobb, sitting 
down. “We’ve got forty pounds in ’and, apart from 
the private money we each of us ’eld ready to subscribe. 
There was twenty pounds to begin with from Smith— 
I mean Mr. Wayfield—and then another ten from ’im, 
and five pounds the morning ’e left, and five pounds 
Mr. Stanley give us when we said good-bye to ’im.” 

“And then there’s the ten pounds each, over and 
above our wages and expenses, what the owner give us,” 
said Mr. Lock. “Lucky he was far too muddled after 
his evening with that lobster to remember anything 


280 


THE OLD FIRM 


clearly. We managed him all right. All he could re¬ 
member was that there was a fire.” 

“Forty pounds between us, and ten each we’ve got 
already—that’s twenty pounds in all,” calculated Mr. 
Tridge. 

“And that ain’t at all a bad profit for a signdikit to 
earn in its first voyage,” commented Mr. Dobb. 

“We wasn’t able to buy the old boat, though,” said 
Mr. Clark. “Of course,” he added dubiously, “we 
might, some of us, try to get signed on with Mr. Way- 
field, and ’ave another try to get ’er later on, but-” 

“Or we might take our four twenties, and add our 
private money to it,” said Mr. Lock, but without en¬ 
thusiasm, “and make a offer for some other boat. We 
might get ‘ ’Orace & Co.,’ shipowners, started that 
way.” 

“Aye, we might .agreed Mr. Dobb, and there en¬ 
sued a little pause. 

“For myself,” said Mr. Tridge rather awkwardly, at 
last, “I’m afraid I’ll ’ave to withdraw from the sign¬ 
dikit. I’ve been ’aving a chat with the chap what 
bought the Magnolia T’ilet Saloon off of me. ’E’s ’ad 
enough of it, and ’e’s ready to sell it back to me for 
twenty quid and an IOU. In fact, I’ve settled with 
’im already. I’m sorry, but there it is.” 

“For that matter,” stated Mr. Lock, “I’d like to 
leave the signdikit myself. My old boss, down at the 
‘Royal William,’ has been talking to me. He’s missed 
me. He admits it. And, now he’s put a cash-register in 
the billiard-room, he’s quite ready to forget and forgive 
and take me back. I’ve got a wife and kiddie in the 
town here and—well, I’ve as good as promised I’ll go 
back.” 

“If Peter and Joe is backing out, I’m backing out 


THE OLD FIRM 


281 


too,” said Mr. Clark. “In fact, I shall pretty well ’ave 
to before long. I’ve got a little business speckylation on 
what’s going to take up a lot of my time and-” 

“Well, well, everything’s turning out for the best,” 
cried Mr. Dobb in high humour. “Tell you for why! 
My missis ’as swung right round since I been away. 
Missed me ? She couldn’t ’ave missed me more if I’d 
been a cross between a millionaire and a angel! And 
—well, we’ve talked things over and I’m resigning from 
the signdikit. After all, we done pretty well, and we’ve 
all come back more satisfied than we started.” 

“ ’Ear, ’ear!” cordially agreed his friends. 

“So the signdikit is ’ereby dissolved,” announced 
Horace. “I’ve got the money with me to pay you all 
out now, and that’ll be the end of the signdikit.” 

“Pro tem” said Mr. Lock. “And not counting such 
sub rosey things as we may fix up in the town from 
time to time.” 

“That’s the idea!” cried Mr. Dobb. “ ’Ere, know 
that little shop of mine in Fore Street? Me and my 
missis are going to try it on a different line now. We’re 
going to run it as a restyrong. Old friends always 
welcome, old helpers always rewarded.” 

“And—and there’ll be another old acquaintance from 
the Mane Gladys’ living in Shore’aven,” observed Mr. 
Clark, speaking a little askance. “Remember Mrs. 
Brockway ? Seems she’s got a bit of capital, and she s 
going to buy a bathing-machine pitch on the beach with 
it. Telling me all about it, she was, that night you 
chaps made me take ’er for a walk ashore in the mist.” 

« ’Ere, if she’s got a bit of capital,” interruped Mr. 
Tridge, “I reckon it was a unfriendly act of yours not 
to tell me! I might ’ave-” 

“Too late, Joe,” said Mr. Clark. “Next Monday 




282 


THE OLD FIRM 


morning she’s going along to the Registry Office with 
me. I’m marrying ’er myself. We fixed it all up that 
evening. You gave us time to talk about such a lot 
of things. We shall be as ’appy as a couple of turtle 
doves! I always thought so, right from the start.” 

“Yes, but what about that little business speckylation 
what’s going to take up most of your time?” asked 
Mr. Dobb. 

“That’s it,” said Mr. Clark simply. 


















































































































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